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DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


The  Glenn  Negley  Collection 
of  Utopian  Literature 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

A  STORY  OF  2000  A.D. 

(together  with  extracts  from  the  contemporary 
magazine  in  which  it  appeared) 


BOOKS   BY  RUDYARD   KIPLING 


Brushwood  Boy,  The 
Captains  Courageous 
Collected  Verse 
Day's  Work,  The 

Departmental  Ditties 
AND  Ballads  and  Bar- 
rack-Room Ballads 

Five  Nations,  The 

Jungle  Book,  The 

Jungle  Book,  Second 

Just  So  Song  Book 

Just  So  Stories 

Kim 

Kipling  Birthday  Book, 
The 

Life's  Handicap  ;  Being 
Stories  of  Mine  Own 
People 


Light  That  Failed, The 
Many  Inventions 
Naulahka,  The    (With 

Wolcott  Balestier) 
Plain   Tales   from  the 

Hills 
Puck  of  Pook's  Hill 
Sea  to  Sea,  From 
Seven  Seas,  The 
Soldier  Stories 

Soldiers     Three,    The 
Story  of  the  Gadsbys, 
and  In  Black  and  White 
Stalky  &  Co. 
They 
Traffics  and  Discoveries 

Under  the  Deodars, 
The  Phantom  'Rick- 
shaw and  Wee  Willie 

WiNKIE 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 
in  2010  witii  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/witliniglitmailstoOOI<ipl 


**A  MAN  WITH  A  GHASTLY  SCARLET  HEAD  FOLLOWS, 
SHOUTING  THAT  HE  MUST  GO  BACK  AND  BUILD  UP 
HIS  RAY." 


With  the  Night  Mail 


A   STORY   OF   2000   A.D 

(TOGETHER  WITH  EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  CONTEMPORARY 
MAGAZINE  IN  WHICH  IT   APPEARED  ) 

BY 
RUDYARD    KIPLING 

Illustrated  in  Color 

BY  FRANK  X.  LEYENDECKER 
AND  H.  REUTERDAHL 


NEW  YORK 

Doubleday,    Page   &    Company 

1909 


ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED,    INCLUDING    THAT   OF   T2ANSLATION 
INTO   FOREIGN   LANGUAGES.  INCLUDING   THE   SCANDINAVIAN 


COPYRIGHT,    IQOS,    I900,   BY   RUDYARD    KIPLING 
PLT  J  ISHED,    MARCH,    I9O9 


REPRINTED   IN  BOOK    FORM   BY   PERMISSION   OT 
THE   S.    S.   MCCLURE   COMPANY 


K^7^ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

**  A  man  with  a  ghastly  scarlet  head 
follows,  shouting  that  he  must  go 
back  and  build  up  his  Ray"  Frontispiece 

FOLLOWING  PAGE 

"  Slides  like  a  lost  soul  down  that 
pitiless  ladder  of  light,  and  the 
Atlantic  takes  her "       .         .         .31 

The  Storm 39 

**  I  've  asked  him  to  tea  on  Friday  "  .       58 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

A  STORY  OF  2000  A.D. 


With  the  Night  Mail 

A  T  NINE  o'clock  of  a  gusty  winter  night 
I  stood  on  the  lower  stages  of  one  of 
the  G.  P.  O.  outward  mail  towers.  My 
purpose  was  a  run  to  Quebec  in  "Postal 
Packet  162  or  such  other  as  may  be 
appointed":  and  the  Postmaster-General 
himself  countersigned  the  order.  This 
talisman  opened  all  doors,  even  those  in 
the  despatching-caisson  at  the  foot  of  the 
tower,  where  they  were  delivering  the  sorted 
Continental  mail.  The  bags  lay  packed 
close  as  herrings  in  the  long  gray  under- 
bodies  which  our  G.  P.  O.  still  calls 
"coaches."  Five  such  coaches  were  filled 
as  I  watched,  and  were  shot  up  the 
guides  to  be  locked  on  to  their  waiting 
[3] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

packets  three  hundred  feet  nearer  the 
stars. 

From  the  despatching-caisson  I  was  con- 
ducted by  a  courteous  and  wonderfully 
learned  official  —  Mr.  L.  L.  Geary,  Second 
Despatcher  of  the  Western  Route  —  to  the 
Captains'  Room  (this  wakes  an  echo  of  old 
romance),  where  the  mail  captains  come 
on  for  their  turn  of  duty.  He  introduces 
me  to  the  Captain  of  "162" — Captain 
Purnall,  and  his  relief,  Captain  Hodgson. 
The  one  is  small  and  dark;  the  other  large 
and  red ;  but  each  has  the  brooding  sheathed 
glance  characteristic  of  eagles  and  aero- 
nauts. You  can  see  it  in  the  pictures  of  our 
racing  professionals,  from  L.  V.  Rautsch 
to  little  Ada  Warrleigh  —  that  fathomless 
abstraction  of  eyes  habitually  turned 
through  naked  space. 

On  the  notice-board  in  the  Captains' 
Room,  the  pulsing  arrows  of  some  twenty 

[4] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

indicators  register,  degree  by  geographical 
degree,  the  progress  of  as  many  homeward- 
bound  packets.  The  word  "Cape"  rises 
across  the  face  of  a  dial;  a  gong  strikes: 
the  South  African  mid-weekly  mail  is  in  at 
the  Highgate  Receiving  Towers.  That  is 
all.  It  reminds  one  comically  of  the 
traitorous  little  bell  which  in  pigeon- 
fanciers'  lofts  notifies  the  return  of  a  homer. 

"Time  for  us  to  be  on  the  move,"  says 
Captain  Purnall,  and  we  are  shot  up  by  the 
passenger-lift  to  the  top  of  the  despatch- 
towers.  "Our  coach  will  lock  on  w^hen  it 
is  filled  and  the  clerks  are  aboard."   .    .    . 

"No.  162"  waits  for  us  in  Slip  E  of  the 
topmost  stage.  The  great  curve  of  her 
back  shines  frostily  under  the  lights,  and 
some  minute  alteration  of  trim  makes  her 
rock  a  little  in  her  holding-down  slips. 

Captain  Purnall  frowns  and  dives  inside. 
Hissing  softly,  "162"  comes  to  rest  as  level 
[5] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

as  a  rule.  From  her  North  Atlantic  Winter 
nose-cap  (worn  bright  as  diamond  with 
boring  through  uncounted  leagues  of  hail, 
snow,  and  ice)  to  the  inset  of  her  three 
built-out  propeller-shafts  is  some  two  hun- 
dred and  forty  feet.  Her  extreme  diameter, 
carried  well  forward,  is  thirty-seven.  Con- 
trast this  with  the  nine  hundred  by  ninety- 
five  of  any  crack  liner  and  you  will  realize 
the  power  that  must  drive  a  hull  through 
all  weathers  at  more  than  the  emergency- 
speed   of   the   "Cyclonic"! 

The  eye  detects  no  joint  in  her  skin 
plating  save  the  sweeping  hair-crack  of 
the  bow-rudder  —  Magniac's  rudder  that 
•assured  us  the  dominion  of  the  unstable  air 
and  left  its  inventor  penniless  and  half- 
blind.  It  is  calculated  to  Castelli's  "gull- 
wing"  curve.  Raise  a  few  feet  of  that  all 
but  invisible  plate  three-eighths  of  an  inch 
and  she  will  yaw  five  miles  to  port  or  star- 
[6] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

board  ere  she  is  under  control  again.  Give 
her  full  helm  and  she  returns  on  her  track 
like  a  whip-lash.  Cant  the  whole  for- 
ward —  a  touch  on  the  wheel  will  suflBce 
—  and  she  sweeps  at  your  good  direction 
up  or  down.  Open  the  complete  circle 
and  she  presents  to  the  air  a  mushroom- 
head  that  will  bring  her  up  all  standing 
within  a  half  mile. 

"Yes,"  says  Captain  Hodgson,  answer- 
ing my  thought,  "Castelli  thought  he  'd  dis- 
covered the  secret  of  controlling  aeroplanes 
when  he  'd  only  found  out  how  to  steer 
dirigible  balloons.  Magniac  invented  his 
rudder  to  help  war-boats  ram  each  other; 
and  war  went  out  of  fashion  and  Magniac 
he  went  out  of  his  mind  because  he  said 
he  could  n't  serve  his  country  any  more. 
I  wonder  if  any  of  us  ever  know  what 
we  're  really  doing." 

**If  you  want  to  see  the  coach  locked 
[7] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

you  'd  better  go  aboard.  It 's  due  now," 
says  Mr.  Geary.  I  enter  through  the  door 
amidships.  There  is  nothing  here  for  dis- 
play. The  inner  skin  of  the  gas-tanks 
comes  down  to  within  a  foot  or  two  of  my 
head  and  turns  over  just  short  of  the  turn 
of  the  bilges.  Liners  and  yachts  disguise 
their  tanks  with  decoration,  but  the  G.  P.  O. 
serves  them  raw  under  a  lick  of  gray  official 
paint.  The  inner  skin  shuts  off  fifty  feet 
of  the  bow  and  as  much  of  the  stern,  but 
the  bow-bulkhead  is  recessed  for  the  lift- 
shunting  apparatus  as  the  stern  is  pierced 
for  the  shaft-tunnels.  The  engine-room  lies 
almost  amidships.  Forward  of  it,  extend- 
ing to  th-e  turn  of  the  bow  tanks,  is  an 
aperture  —  a  bottomless  hatch  at  present 
—  into  which  our  coach  will  be  locked. 
One  looks  down  over  the  coamings  three 
hundred  feet  to  the  despatching-caisson 
whence  voices  boom  upward.  The  light 
[8] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

below  is  obscured  to  a  sound  of  thunder, 
as  our  coach  rises  on  its  guides.  It  enlarges 
rapidly  from  a  postage-stamp  to  a  playing- 
card;  to  a  punt  and  last  a  pontoon.  The 
two  clerks,  its  crew,  do  not  even  look  up  as 
it  comes  into  place.  The  Quebec  letters 
fly  under  their  fingers  and  leap  into  the 
docketed  racks,  while  both  captains  and 
Mr.  Geary  satisfy  themselves  that  the  coach 
is  locked  home.  A  clerk  passes  the  way- 
bill over  the  hatch-coaming.  Captain 
Purnall  thumb-marks  and  passes  it  to  Mr. 
Geary.  Receipt  has  been  given  and  taken. 
"Pleasant  run,"  says  Mr.  Geary,  and  dis- 
appears through  the  door  which  a  foot- 
high  pneumatic  compressor  locks  after 
him. 

*'A-ah!"  sighs  the  compressor  released. 
Our  holding-down  clips  part  with  a  tang. 
We  are  clear. 

Captain  Hodgson  opens  the  great  colloid 
[9] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

underbody-porthole  through  which  I  watch 
milUon-Hghted  London  slide  eastward  as 
the  gale  gets  hold  of  us.  The  first  of  the 
low  winter  clouds  cuts  off  the  well-known 
view  and  darkens  Middlesex.  On  the 
south  edge  of  it  I  can  see  a  postal  packet's 
light  ploughing  through  the  white  fleece. 
For  an  instant  she  gleams  like  a  star  ere 
she  drops  toward  the  Highgate  Receiving 
Towers.  "The  Bombay  Mail,"  says 
Captain  Hodgson,  and  looks  at  his  watch. 
"She's   forty   minutes   late." 

"Wliat's  our  level.?"  I  ask. 

"Four  thousand.  Aren't  you  coming 
up  on  the  bridge  ? " 

The  bridge  (let  us  ever  bless  the  G.  P.  O. 
as  a  repository  of  ancientest  tradition!) 
is  represented  by  a  view  of  Captain 
Hodgson's  legs  where  he  stands  on  the 
control  platform  that  runs  thwartships 
overhead.  The  bow  colloid  is  unshuttered 
[10] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

and  Captain  Purnall,  one  hand  on  the 
wheel,  is  feeUng  for  a  fair  slant.  The 
dial  shows  4,300  feet. 

"It's  steep  to-night,"  he  mutters,  as 
tier  on  tier  of  cloud  drops  under.  *'We 
generally  pick  up  an  easterly  draught 
below  three  thousand  at  this  time  o'  the 
year.     I  hate  slathering  through  fluff." 

"So  does  Van  Cutsem.  Look  at  him 
huntin'  for  a  slant!"  says  Captain  Hodgson. 
A  fog-light  breaks  cloud  a  hundred  fathoms 
below.  The  Antwerp  Night  Mail  makes 
her  signal  and  rises  between  two  racing 
clouds  far  to  port,  her  flanks  blood-red  in 
the  glare  of  Sheerness  Double  Light.  The 
gale  will  have  us  over  the  North  Sea 
in  half  an  hour,  but  Captain  Purnall  lets 
her  go  composedly  —  nosing  to  every  point 
of  the  compass  as  she  rises. 

"Five  thousand  —  six,  six  thousand  eight 
hundred "  —  the  dip-dial  reads  ere  we  find 

[11] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

the  easterly  drift,  heralded  by  a  flurry  of 
snow  at  the  thousand-fathom  level.  Cap- 
tain Purnall  rings  up  the  engines  and  keys 
down  the  governor  on  the  switch  before  him. 
There  is  no  sense  in  urging  machinery  when 
iEolus  himself  gives  you  good  knots  for 
nothing.  We  are  away  in  earnest  now  — 
our  nose  notched  home  on  our  chosen  star. 
At  this  level  the  lower  clouds  are  laid  out 
all  neatly  combed  by  the  dry  fingers  of  the 
East.  Below  that  again  is  the  strong 
westerly  blow  through  which  we  rose. 
Overhead,  a  film  of  southerly  drifting  mist 
draws  a  theatrical  gauze  across  the  firma- 
ment. The  moonlight  turns  the  lower 
strata  to  silver  without  a  stain  except  where 
our  shadow  underruns  us.  Bristol  and  Car- 
diff Double  Lights  (those  statelily  inclined 
beams  over  Severnmouth)  are  dead  ahead 
of  us;  for  we  keep  the  Southern  Winter 
Route.  Coventry  Central,  the  pivot  of  the 
[12] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

English  system,  stabs  upward  once  in  ten 
seconds  its  spear  of  diamond  light  to  the 
north ;  and  a  point  or  two  off  our  starboard 
bow  The  Leek,  the  great  cloud-breaker  of 
Saint  David's  Head,  swings  its  unmistak- 
able green  beam  twenty-five  degrees  each 
way.  There  must  be  half  a  mile  of  fluff 
over  it  in  this  weather,  but  it  does  not  affect 
The  Leek. 

"Our  planet's  overlighted  if  anything," 
says  Captain  Purnall  at  the  wheel,  as 
Cardiff-Bristol  slides  under.  '*I  remember 
the  old  days  of  common  white  verticals 
that  'ud  show  two  or  three  thousand  feet 
up  in  a  mist,  if  you  knew  where  to  look  for 
'em.  In  really  fluffy  weather  they  might 
as  well  have  been  under  your  hat.  One 
could  get  lost  coming  home  then,  an'  have 
some  fun.  Now,  it 's  like  driving  down 
Piccadilly." 

He  points  to  the  pillars  of  light  where  the 
[13] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


cloud-breakers    bore    through    the    cloud- 
floor.     We  see  nothing  of  England's  out- 
lines: only  a  white  pavement  pierced  in  all 
directions  by  these  manholes  of  variously 
coloured   fire — Holy    Island's    white    and 
red  —  St.   Bee's  interrupted  white,   and  so 
on  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach.     Blessed 
be     Sargent,     Ahrens,     and     the     Dubois 
brothers,  who  invented  the  cloud-breakers 
of  the  world  whereby  we  travel  in  security! 
"Are  you  going  to  lift  for  The  Sham- 
rock?"    asks     Captain     Hodgson.      Cork 
Light  (green,  fixed)  enlarges  as  we  rush  to 
it.     Captain  Purnall  nods.     There  is  heavy 
traffic  hereabouts — the  cloud-bank  beneath 
us  is  streaked  with  running  fissures  of  flame 
where    the    Atlantic    boats    are    hurrying 
Londonward  just  clear  of  the  fluff.     Mail- 
packets  are  supposed,  under  the  Conference 
rules,  to  have  the  five-thousand-foot  lanes 
to  themselves,  but  the  foreigner  in  a  hurry 
[14] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

is  apt  to  take  liberties  with  English  air. 
"No.  162"  hfts  to  a  long-drawn  wail  of  the 
breeze  in  the  fore-flange  of  the  rudder  and 
we  make  Valencia  (white,  green,  white) 
at  a  safe  7,000  feet,  dipping  our  beam  to  an 
incoming    Washington    packet. 

There  is  no  cloud  on  the  Atlantic,  and 
faint  streaks  of  cream  round  Dingle  Bay  show 
where  the  driven  seas  hammer  the  coast.  A 
big  S.  A.  T.  A.  liner  {Societe  Anonyme  des 
Transports  Aeriens)  is  diving  and  lifting 
half  a  mile  below  us  in  search  of  some  break 
in  the  solid  west  wind.  Lower  still  lies  a 
disabled  Dane:  she  is  telling  the  liner  all 
about  it  in  International.  Our  General 
Communication  dial  has  caught  her  talk 
and  begins  to  eavesdrop.  Captain  Hodg- 
son makes  a  motion  to  shut  it  off  but  checks 
himself.  "Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  listen,"  he 
says. 

"'Argol'  of  St.  Thomas,"  the  Dane 
[15] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

whimpers.  "Report  owners  three  starboard 
shaft  collar-bearings  fused.  Can  make 
Flores  as  we  are,  but  impossible  further. 
Shall  we  buy  spares  at  Fayal.^" 

The  liner  acknowledges  and  recommends 
inverting  the  bearings.  The  "Argol" 
answers  that  she  has  already  done  so  with- 
out effect,  and  begins  to  relieve  her  mind 
about  cheap  German  enamels  for  collar- 
bearings.  The  Frenchman  assents  cordially, 
cries  "  Courage,  mon  ami,"  and  switches  off. 

Their  lights  sink  under  the  curve  of  the 
ocean. 

"That's  one  of  Lundt  &  Bleamers*s 
boats,"  says  Captain  Hodgson.  "Serves 
'em  right  for  putting  German  compos  in 
their  thrust-blocks.  She  won't  be  in  Fayal 
to-night!  By  the  way,  wouldn't  you  like 
to  look  round  the  engine-room?" 

I  have  been  waiting  eagerly  for  this  invi- 
tation and  I  follow  Captain  Hodgson  from 
[16] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

the  control-platform,  stooping  low  to  avoid 
the  bulge  of  the  tanks.  We  know  that 
rieury's  gas  can  lift  anything,  as  the  world- 
famous  trials  of  '89  showed,  but  its  almost 
indefinite  powers  of  expansion  necessitate 
vast  tank  room.  Even  in  this  thin  air  the 
lift-shunts  are  busy  taking  out  one-third  of 
its  normal  lift,  and  still  "162"  must  be 
checked  by  an  occasional  downdraw  of  the 
rudder  or  our  flio-ht  would  become  a  climb 
to  the  stars.  Captain  Purnall  prefers  an 
overlif ted  to  an  underlif ted  ship ;  but  no  two 
captains  trim  ship  alike.  "When  I  take 
the  bridge,"  says  Captain  Hodgson,  "you  '11 
see  me  shunt  forty  per  cent,  of  the  lift  out  of 
the  gas  and  run  her  on  the  upper  rudder. 
With  a  swoop  upwards  instead  of  a  swoop 
downwards,  as  you  say.  Either  way  will  do. 
It 's  only  habit.  Watch  our  dip-dial !  Tim 
fetches  her  down  once  every  thirty  knots  as 
regularly  as  breathing." 
[17] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

So  is  it  shown  on  the  dip-dial.  For  five 
or  six  minutes  the  arrow  creeps  from  6,700 
to  7,300.  There  is  the  faint  "szgee"  of  the 
rudder,  and  back  slides  the  arrow  to  6,500  on 
a  falling  slant  of  ten  or  fifteen  knots. 

"In  heavy  weather  you  jockey  her  with 
the  screws  as  well,"  says  Captain  Hodgson, 
and,  unclipping  the  jointed  bar  which  di- 
vides the  engine-room  from  the  bare  deck, 
he  leads  me  on  to  the  floor. 

Here  we  find  Fleury's  Paradox  of  the 
Bulkheaded  Vacuum  —  which  we  accept 
now  without  thought  —  literally  in  full  blast. 
The  three  engines  are  H.  T.  &.  T.  assisted- 
vacuo  Fleury  turbines  running  from  3,000 
to  the  Limit  —  that  is  to  say,  up  to  the 
point  when  the  blades  make  the  air  "bell" 
— cut  out  a  vacuum  for  themselves  pre- 
cisely as  over-driven  marine  propellers  used 
to  do.  "  162's"  Limit  is  low  on  account  of  the 
small  size  of  her  nine  screws,  which,  though 
[18] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

handier  than  the  old  colloid  Thelussons, 
' '  bell"  sooner.  The  midships  engine,  gener- 
ally used  as  a  reinforce,  is  not  running;  so 
the  port  and  starboard  turbine  vacuum- 
chambers  draw  direct  into  the  return-mains. 
The  turbines  whistle  reflectively.  From 
the  low-arched  expansion-tanks  on  either 
side  the  valves  descend  pillarwise  to  the 
turbine-chests,  and  thence  the  obedient  gas 
whirls  through  the  spirals  of  blades  with 
a  force  that  would  whip  the  teeth  out  of  a 
power-saw.  Behind,  is  its  own  pressure 
held  in  leash  or  spurred  on  by  the  lift- 
shunts;  before  it,  the  vacuum  where  Fleury's 
Ray  dances  in  violet-green  bands  and 
whirled  turbillions  of  flame.  The  jointed 
U-tubes  of  the  vacuum-chamber  are 
pressure-tempered  colloid  (no  glass  would 
endure  the  strain  for  an  instant)  and  a  junior 
engineer  with  tinted  spectacles  watches  the 
Ray  intently.  It  is  the  very  heart  of  the 
[19] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

machine  —  a  mystery  to  this  day.  Even 
Fleury  who  begat  it  and,  unlike  Magniac, 
died  a  multi-millionaire,  could  not  explain 
how  the  restless  little  imp  shuddering  in  the 
U-tube  can,  in  the  fractional  fraction  of  a 
second,  strike  the  furious  blast  of  gas 
into  a  chill  grayish-green  liquid  that  drains 
(you  can  hear  it  trickle)  from  the  far  end 
of  the  vacuum  through  the  eduction-pipes 
and  the  mains  back  to  the  bilges.  Here  it 
returns  to  its  gaseous,  one  had  almost 
written  sagacious,  state  and  climbs  to  work 
afresh.  Bilge-tank,  upper  tank,  dorsal- 
tank,  expansion-chamber,  vacuum,  main- 
return  (as  a  liquid),  and  bilge-tank  once 
more  is  the  ordained  cycle.  Fleury' s  Ray 
sees  to  that ;  and  the  engineer  with  the  tinted 
spectacles  sees  to  Fleury' s  Ray.  If  a  speck 
of  oil,  if  even  the  natural  grease  of  the 
human  fino:er  touch  the  hooded  terminals 
Fleury' s  Ray  will  wink  and  disappear  and 
[20] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

must  be  laboriously  built  up  again.  This 
means  half  a  day's  work  for  all  hands  and  an 
expense  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-odd 
pounds  to  the  G.  P.  O.  for  radium-salts  and 
such  trifles. 

"Now  look  at  our  thrust-collars.  You 
won't  find  much  German  compo  there. 
Full-jewelled,  you  see,"  says  Captain  Hodg- 
son as  the  engineer  shunts  open  the  top  of  a 
cap.  Our  shaft-bearings  are  C.  M.  C.  (Com- 
mercial Minerals  Company)  stones,  ground 
with  as  much  care  as  the  lens  of  a  telescope. 
They  cost  .£37  apiece.  So  far  we  have  not 
arrived  at  their  term  of  life.  These  bear- 
ings came  from  "No.  97,"  which  took  them 
over  from  the  old  "Dominion  of  Light," 
which  had  them  out  of  the  wreck  of  the 
"Perseus"  aeroplane  in  the  years  when  men 
still  flew  linen  kites  over  thorium  engines! 

They  are  a  shining  reproof  to  all  low-grade 
German  "ruby"  enamels,  so-called  "boort" 
[21] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

facings,  and  the  dangerous  and  unsatis- 
factory alumina  compounds  which  please 
dividend-hunting  owners  and  turn  skippers 
crazy. 

The  rudder-gear  and  the  gas  lift-shunt, 
seated  side  by  side  under  the  engine-room 
dials,  are  the  only  machines  in  visible  mo- 
tion. The  former  sighs  from  time  to  time 
as  the  oil  plunger  rises  and  falls  half  an  inch. 
The  latter,  cased  and  guarded  like  the 
U-tube  aft,  exhibits  another  Fleury  Ray, 
but  inverted  and  more  green  than  violet. 
Its  function  is  to  shunt  the  lift  out  of  the 
gas,  and  this  it  will  do  without  watching. 
That  is  all!  A  tiny  pump-rod  wheezing 
and  whining  to  itself  beside  a  sputtering 
green  lamp.  A  hundred  and  fifty  feet  aft 
down  the  flat-topped  tunnel  of  the  tanks  a 
violet  light,  restless  and  irresolute.  Between 
the  two,  three  white-painted  turbine-trunks, 
like  eel-baskets  laid  on  their  side,  accentuate 
[22  ] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

the  empty  perspectives.  You  can  hear  the 
trickle  of  the  liquefied  gas  flowing  from  the 
vacuum  into  the  bilge-tanks  and  the  soft 
gluck-glock  of  gas-locks  closing  as  Captain 
Purnall  brings  "162"  down  by  the  head. 
The  hum  of  the  turbines  and  the  boom  of 
the  air  on  our  skin  is  no  more  than  a  cotton- 
wool wrapping  to  the  universal  stillness. 
And  we  are  running  an  eighteen-second  mile. 

I  peer  from  the  fore  end  of  the  engine- 
room  over  the  hatch-coamings  into  the  coach. 
The  mail-clerks  are  sorting  the  Winnipeg, 
Calgary,  and  Medicine  Hat  bags:  but  there 
is  a  pack  of  cards  ready  on  the  table. 

Suddenly  a  bell  thrills ;  the  engineers  run 
to  the  turbine-valves  and  stand  by;  but 
the  spectacled  slave  of  the  Ray  in  the 
U-tube  never  lifts  his  head.  He  must  watch 
where  he  is.  We  are  hard-braked  and  go- 
ing astern;  there  is  language  from  the 
control-platform. 

[23] 


/ 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


"Tim's  sparking  badly  about  something," 
says  the  unruffled  Captain  Hodgson.  ' '  Let' s 
look." 

Captain  Purnall  is  not  the  suave  man  we 
left  half  an  hour  since,  but  the  embodied 
authority  of  the  G.  P.  O.  Ahead  of  us  floats 
an  ancient,  aluminum-patched,  twin-screw 
tramp  of  the  dingiest,  with  no  more  right  to 
the  5,000  foot  lane  than  has  a  horse-cart  to 
a  modern  town.  She  carries  an  obsolete 
"barbette"  conning- tower — a  six-foot  affair 
with  railed  platform  forward  —  and  our 
warning  beam  plays  on  the  top  of  it  as  a 
policeman's  lantern  flashes  on  the  area 
sneak.  Like  a  sneak-thief,  too,  emerges  a 
shock-headed  navigator  in  his  shirt-sleeves. 
Captain  Purnall  wrenches  open  the  colloid  to 
talk  with  him  man  to  man.  There  are 
times  when  Science  does  not  satisfy. 

"What   under   the   stars   are   you   doing 
here,    you    sky-scraping    chimney-sweep?" 
[24] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

he  shouts  as  we  two  drift  side  by  side.  "Do 
you  know  this  is  a  Mail-lane  ?  You  call 
yourself  a  sailor,  sir?  You  ain't  fit  to 
peddle  toy  balloons  to  an  Esquimaux.  Your 
name  and  number!  Report  and  get  down, 
and  be !" 

"I've  been  blown  up  once,"  the  shock- 
headed  man  cries,  hoarsely,  as  a  dog  barking. 
"I  don't  care  two  flips  of  a  contact  for 
anything  you  can  do,  Postey." 

"Don't  you,  sir?  But  I'll  make  you 
care.  I  '11  have  you  towed  stern  first  to 
Disko  and  broke  up.  You  can't  recover 
insurance  if  you  're  broke  for  obstruction. 
Do  you  understand  that?" 

Then  the  stranger  bellows:  "Look  at  my 
propellers!  There  's  been  a  wuUi-wa  down 
under  that  has  knocked  us  into  umbrella- 
frames!  We  've  been  blown  up  about  forty 
thousand  feet!  We're  all  one  conjuror's 
watch  inside!  My  mate's  arm 's  broke;  my 
[25] 


^VITH  THE  NIGHT  IVIAIL 

engineer's  head's  cut  open;    my  Ray  went 
out  when  the  engines  smashed;  and     . 
and     .      .      .     for  pity's  sake  give  me  my 
height,   Captain  !     We   doubt  we  're  drop- 
ping." 

"Six  thousand  eight  hundred.  Can  you 
hold  it?"  Captain  Purnall  overlooks  all  in- 
sults, and  leans  half  out  of  the  colloid, 
staring  and  snuflSng.  The  stranger  leaks 
pungently. 

*'We  ought  to  blow  into  St.  John's 
with  luck.  We  're  trying  to  plug  the  fore- 
tank  now,  but  she 's  simply  whistling  it 
away,"  her  captain  wails. 

"She  's  sinking  like  a  log,"  says  Captain 
Purnall  in  an  undertone.  "Call  up  the 
Banks  Mark  Boat,  George."  Our  dip-dial 
shows  that  we,  keeping  abreast  the  tramp, 
have  dropped  five  hundred  feet  the  last  few 
minutes. 

Captain  Purnall  presses  a  switch  and  our 
[06] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

signal  beam  begins  to  swing  through  the 
night,  twizziing  spokes  of  light  across 
infinity. 

"That  '11  fetch  something,"  he  says,  while 
CaptainHodgson  watches  the  General  Com- 
municator. He  has  called  up  the  North 
Banks  Mark  Boat,  a  few  hundred  miles 
west,  and  is  reporting  the  case. 

"I'll  stand  by  you,"  Captain  Purnall  roars 
to  the  lone  figure  on  the  conning-tower. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that  ?"  comes  the  answer. 
"She  isn't  insured,  she's  mine." 

"  'Might  have  guessed  as  much,"  mutters 
Hodgson.  "Owner's  risk  is  the  worst  risk 
of   all!" 

"Can't  I  fetch  St.  John's — not  even 
with  this  breeze.^"  the  voice  quavers. 

"Stand  by  to  abandon  ship.  Haven't 
you  any  lift  in  you,  fore  or  aft  .^" 

"Nothing  but  the  midship  tanks  and 
they  're  none  too  tight.  You  see,  my  Ray 
[27] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

gave  out  and  — "he  coughs  in  the  reek  of 
the  escaping  gas. 

"You  poor  devil!"  This  does  not  reach 
our  friend.  "What  does  the  Mark  Boat 
say,  George.^" 

"  'Wants  to  know  if  there  's  any  danger  to 
trajffic.  Says  she  's  in  a  bit  of  weather  her- 
self and  can't  quit  station.  I  've  turned  in  a 
General  Call,  so  even  if  they  don't  see  our 
beam  some  one  's  bound  to  help-  -or  else  we 
must.  Shall  I  clear  our  slings.  Hold  on! 
Here  we  are!  A  Planet  liner,  too!  She  '11 
be  up  in  a  tick!" 

"Tell  her  to  have  her  slings  ready,"  cries 
his  brother  captain.  "There  won't  be 
much  time  to  spare  .  .  .  Tie  up  your 
mate,"  he  roars  to  the  tramp. 

"  My  mate  's  all  right.  It 's  my  engineer. 
He's  gone  crazy." 

"Shunt  the  lift  out  of  him  with  a  spanner. 
Hurry!" 

[28] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

'*But  I  can  make  St.  John's  if  you'll 
stand  by." 

"You'll  make  the  deep,  wet  Atlantic 
in  twenty  minutes.  You  're  less  than  fifty- 
eight  hundred  now.     Get  your  papers." 

A  Planet  liner,  east  bound,  heaves  up 
in  a  superb  spiral  and  takes  the  air  of  us 
humming.  Her  underbody  colloid  is  open 
and  her  transporter-slings  hang  down  like 
tentacles.  We  shut  off  our  beam  as  she 
adjusts  herself  —  steering  to  a  hair  —  over 
the  tramp's  conning- tower.  The  mate 
comes  up,  his  arm  strapped  to  his  side,  and 
stumbles  into  the  cradle.  A  man  with  a 
ghastly  scarlet  head  follows,  shouting  that 
he  must  go  back  and  build  up  his  Ray. 
The  mate  assures  him  that  he  will  find  a  nice 
new  Ray  all  ready  in  the  liner's  engine-room. 
The  bandaged  head  goes  up  wagging  ex- 
citedly. A  youth  and  a  woman  follow. 
The  liner  cheers  hollowly  above  us,  and 
[29] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

we  see  the  passenger's  faces  at  the  saloon 
colloid. 

"That's  a  good  girl.  What's  the  fool 
waiting  for  now.?"   says  Captain  Purnall. 

The  skipper  comes  up,  still  appealing  to  us 
to  stand  by  and  see  him  fetch  St.  John's. 
He  dives  below  and  returns  —  at  which  we 
little  human  beings  in  the  void  cheer  louder 
than  ever  —  with  the  ship's  kitten.  Up 
fly  the  liner's  hissing  slings;  her  under- 
body  crashes  home  and  she  hurtles  away 
again.     The  dial  shows  less  than  3,000  feet. 

The  Mark  Boat  signals  we  must  at- 
tend to  the  derelict,  now  whistling  her  death 
song,  as  she  falls  beneath  us  in  long  sick 
zigzags. 

"Keep  our  beam  on  her  and  send  out  a 
General  Warning,"  says  Captain  Purnall, 
following  her  down. 

There  is  no  need.  Not  a  liner  in  air 
but  knows  the  meaning  of  that  vertical 
[30] 


SLIDES  LIKE  A  LOST  SOUL  DOWN  THAT  PITILESS 
LADDER  OF  LIGHT,  AND  THE  ATLANTIC  TAKES 
HEH  " 


^YITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


beam    and    gives    us    and    our    quarry    a 
wide  berth. 

"But  she'll  drown  in  the  water,   won't 

she?"  I  ask. 

"Not  always,"  is  his  answer.  "I've 
known  a  derelict  up-end  and  sift  her 
engines  out  of  herself  and  flicker  round 
the  Lower  Lanes  for  three  weeks  on  her 
forward  tanks  only.  AVe 'II  run  no  risks. 
Pith  her,  George,  and  look  sharp.  There 's 
weather  ahead." 

Captain  Hodgson  opens  the  underbody 
colloid,  swings  the  heavy  pithing-iron  out 
of  its  rack  which  in  liners  is  generally 
cased  as  a  settee,  and  at  two  hundred 
feet  releases  the  catch.  We  hear  the  whir 
of  the  crescent-shaped  arms  opening  as 
they  descend.  The  derelict's  forehead  is 
punched  in,  starred  across,  and  rent 
diagonally.  She  falls  stern  first,  our  beam 
upon  her;  slides  like  a  lost  soul  down 
[31] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


that  pitiless  ladder  of  light,  and  the  At- 
lantic takes  her. 

"A  filthy  business,"  says  Hodgson.  "I 
wonder  what  it  must  have  been  like  in  the 
old  days." 

The  thought  had  crossed  my  mind  too. 
AVhat  if  that  wavering  carcass  had  been 
filled  with  International-speaking  men  of  all 
the  Internationalities,  each  one  of  them 
taught  {that  is  the  horror  of  it!)  that  after 
death  he  would  very  possibly  go  forever  to 
unspeakable  torment.^ 

And  not  half  a  century  since,  we  (one 
knows  now  that  we  are  only  our  fathers  re- 
enlarged  upon  the  earth),  we,  I  say,  ripped 
and  rammed  and  pithed  to  admiration. 

Here  Tim,  from  the  control-platform, 
shouts  that  we  are  to  get  into  our  inflators 
and  to  bring  him  his  at  once. 

We  hurry  into  the  heavy  rubber  suits  — 
and  the  engineers  are  already  dressed  —  and 
[32] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


inflate  at  the  air-pump  taps.  G.  P.  O.  in- 
flators  are  thrice  as  thick  as  a  racing  man's 
"flickers,"  and  chafe  abominably  under  the 
armpits.  George  takes  the  wheel  until 
Tim  has  blown  himself  up  to  the  extreme 
of  rotundity.  If  you  kicked  him  off  the  c.  p. 
to  the  deck  he  would  bounce  back.  But  it 
is  ''162"  that  will  do  the  kicking. 

"The  Mark  Boat's  mad  —  stark  ravin' 
crazy,"  he  snorts,  returning  to  command. 
"She  says  there  's  a  bad  blow-out  ahead  and 
wants  me  to  pull  over  to  Greenland.  I  '11  see 
her  pithed  first!  We  wasted  an  hour  and  a 
quarter  over  that  dead  duck  down  under,  and 
now  I  'm  expected  to  go  rubbin'  my  back  all 
round  the  Pole.  What  does  she  think  a 
postal  packet 's  made  of  ?  Gummed  silk  't 
Tell  her  we're  coming  on  straight,  George." 

George  buckles  him  into  the  Frame  and 
switches  on  the  Direct  Control.     Now  un- 
der Tim's  left  toe  lies  the  port-engine  Ac- 
[33] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


celerator;  under  his  left  heel  the  Reverse, 
and  so  with  the  other  foot.  The  lift-shunt 
stops  stand  out  on  the  rim  of  the  steering- 
wheel  where  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  can 
play  on  them.  At  his  right  hand  is  the  mid- 
ships engine  lever  ready  to  be  thrown  into 
gear  at  a  moment's  notice.  He  leans  for- 
ward in  his  belt,  eyes  glued  to  the  colloid, 
and  one  ear  cocked  toward  the  General 
Communicator.  Henceforth  he  is  the 
strength  and  direction  of  "162,"  through 
whatever  may  befall. 

The  Banks  Mark  Boat  is  reeling  out  pages 
of  A.  B.  C.  Directions  to  the  traflSc  at 
large.  We  are  to  secure  all  "  loose  objects" ; 
hood  up  our  Fleury  Rays;  and  "on  no  ac- 
count to  attempt  to  clear  snow  from  our 
conning-towers  till  the  weather  abates." 
Under-powered  craft,  we  are  told,  can  ascend 
to  the  limit  of  their  lift,  mail-packets  to 
look  out  for  them  accordingly;  the  lower 
[34] 


X 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

lanes  westward  are  pitting  very  badly, 
"with  frequent  blow-outs,  vortices,  later- 
als, etc." 

Still  the  clear  dark  holds  up  unblemished. 
The  only  warning  is  the  electric  skin-tension 
(I  feel  as  though  I  were  a  lace-maker's  pil- 
low) and  an  irritability  which  the  gibbering 
of  the  General  Communicator  increases 
almost  to  hysteria. 

We  have  made  eight  thousand  feet  since 
we  pithed  the  tramp  and  our  turbines  are 
giving  us  an  honest  two  hundred  and  ten 
knots. 

Very  far  to  the  west  an  elongated  blur 
of  red,  low  down,  shows  us  the  North  Banks 
Mark  Boat.  There  are  specks  of  fire  round 
her  rising  and  falling — bewildered  planets 
about  an  unstable  sun  —  helpless  shipping 
hanging  on  to  her  light  for  company's  sake. 
No  wonder  she  could  not  quit  station. 

She  warns  us  to  look  out  for  the  back- 
[35] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

wash  of  the  bad  vortex  in  which  (her  beam 
shows  it)  she  is  even  now  reeling. 

The  pits  of  gloom  about  us  begin  to  fill 
with  very  faintly  luminous  films  —  wreath- 
ing and  uneasy  shapes.  One  forms  itself 
into  a  globe  of  pale  flame  that  waits  shivering 
with  eagerness  till  we  sweep  by.  It  leaps 
monstrously  across  the  blackness,  alights  on 
the  precise  tip  of  our  nose,  pirouettes  there 
an  instant,  and  swings  off.  Our  roaring 
bow  sinks  as  though  that  light  were  lead  — 
sinks  and  recovers  to  lurch  and  stumble 
again  beneath  the  next  blow-out.  Tim's 
fingers  on  the  lift-shunt  strike  chords  of 
numbers  —  1:4:7:  —  2:4:6:  —  7:5:3,  and 
so  on;  for  he  is  running  by  his  tanks  only, 
lifting  or  lowering  her  against  the  uneasy 
air.  All  three  engines  are  at  work,  for  the 
sooner  we  have  skated  over  this  thin  ice  the 
better.  Higher  we  dare  not  go.  The  whole 
upper  vault  is  charged  with  pale  krypton 
[86] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


vapours,  which  our  skin  friction  may  exci'e 
to  unholy  manifestations.  Between  the 
upper  and  the  lower  levels  —  5,000,  and 
7,000,  hints  the  Mark  Boat  —  we  may  per- 
haps bolt  through  if  .  .  .  Our  bow 
clothes  itself  in  blue  flame  and  falls  like 
a  sword.  No  human  skill  can  keep  pace 
with  the  changing  tensions.  A  vortex  has 
us  by  the  beak  and  we  dive  down  a  two- 
thousand-foot  slant  at  an  angle  (the  dip-dial 
and  my  bouncing  body  record  it)  of  thirty- 
five.  Our  turbines  scream  shrilly;  the  pro- 
pellers cannot  bite  on  the  thin  air;  Tim 
shunts  the  lift  out  of  five  tanks  at  once  and 
by  sheer  weight  drives  her  bulletwise 
through  the  maelstrom  till  she  cushions 
with  a  jar  on  an  up-gust,  three  thousand 
feet  below. 

**  Now  we  've  done  it,"  says  George  in  my 
ear.     "Our  skin-friction  that  last  slide,  has 
played  Old  Harry  with  the  tensions !     Look 
[37] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

out  for   laterals,  Tim,   she  '11    want   some 
holding." 

"I've  got  her,"  is  the  answer.     "Come 
up,  old  woman." 

She  comes  up  nobly,  but  the  laterals  buf- 
fet her  left  and  right  like  the  pinions  of  an- 
gry angels.  She  is  jolted  off  her  course 
in  four  ways  at  once,  and  cuffed  into 
place  again,  only  to  be  swung  aside  and 
dropped  into  a  new  chaos.  We  are 
never  without  a  corposant  grinning  on 
our  bows  or  rolling  head  over  heels  from 
nose  to  midships,  and  to  the  crackle  of 
electricity  around  and  within  us  is  added 
once  or  twice  the  rattle  of  hail  —  hail  that 
will  never  fall  on  any  sea.  Slow  we  must 
or  we  may  break  our  back,  pitch-poling. 

"Air's  a  perfectly  elastic  fluid,"  roars 
George  above  the  tumult.  "  About  as  elastic 
as  a  head  sea  off  the  Fastnet,  aint  it.^" 

He  is  less  than  just  to  the  good  element. 
[38] 


THE    STORM 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

If  one  intrudes  on  the  Heavens  when  they 
are  balancing  their  volt-accounts ;  if  one  dis- 
turbs the  High  Gods'  market-rates  by  hurl- 
ing steel  hulls  at  ninety  knots  across  tremb- 
lingly adjusted  electric  tensions,  one  must  not 
complain  of  any  rudeness  in  the  reception. 
Tim  met  it  with  an  unmoved  countenance, 
one  corner  of  his  under  lip  caught  up  on  a 
tooth,  his  eyes  fleeting  into  the  blackness 
twenty  miles  ahead,  and  the  fierce  sparks 
flying  from  his  knuckles  at  every  turn  of  the 
hand.  Now  and  again  he  shook  his  head 
to  clear  the  sweat  trickling  from  his  eye- 
brows, and  it  was  then  that  George,  watch- 
ing his  chance,  would  slide  down  the  life- 
rail  and  swab  his  face  quickly  with  a  big 
red  handkerchief.  I  never  imagined  that 
a  human  being  could  so  continuously  labour 
and  so  collectedly  think  as  did  Tim  through 
that  Hell's  half  hour  when  the  flurry  was  at 
its  worst.  We  were  dragged  hither  and 
[39] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

yon  by  warm  or  frozen  suctions,  belched  up 
on  the  tops  of  wulli-was,  spun  down  by 
vortices  and  clubbed  aside  by  laterals  under 
a  dizzying  rush  of  stars  in  the  company  of  a 
drunken  moon.  I  heard  the  rushing  click 
of  the  midship-engine-lever  sliding  in  and 
out,  the  low  growl  of  the  lift-shunts,  and, 
louder  than  the  yelling  winds  without,  the 
scream  of  the  bow-rudder  gouging  into  any 
lull  that  promised  hold  for  an  instant.  At 
last  we  began  to  claw  up  on  a  cant,  bow- 
rudder  and  port-propeller  together;  only 
the  nicest  balancing  of  tanks  saved  us 
from  spinning  like  the  rifle-bullet  of  the 
old  days. 

"We  've  got  to  hitch  to  windward  of  that 
Mark  Boat  somehow,"  George  cried. 

"There  's  no  windward,"  I  protested 
feebly,  where  I  swung  shackled  to  a 
stanchion.     "How  can  there  be.^" 

He  laughed  —  as  we  pitched  into  a  thou- 
[40] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


sand  foot  blow-out  —  that  red  man  laughed 
beneath  his  inflated  hood! 

" Look!"  he  said.     "  We  must  clear  those 
refugees  with  a  high  lift." 

The  Mark  Boat  was  below  and  a  little  to 
the  sou' west  of  us,  fluctuating  in  the  centre 
of  her  distraught  galaxy.  The  air  was  thick 
with  moving  lights  at  every  level.  I  take 
it  most  of  them  were  trying  to  lie  head  to  wind 
but,  not  being  hydras,  they  failed.  An  under- 
tanked  Moghrabi  boat  had  risen  to  the  limit 
of  her  lift  and,  finding  no  improvement,  had 
dropped  a  couple  of  thousand.  There  she 
met  a  superb  wuUi-wa  and  was  blown  up 
spinning  like  a  dead  leaf.  Instead  of  shut- 
ing  off  she  w^ent  astern  and,  naturally,  re- 
bounded as  from  a  wall  almost  into  the  Mark 
Boat,  whose  language  (our  G.  C.  took  it  in) 
was  humanly  simple. 

"If  they  'd  only  ride  it  out  quietly  it  'ud 
be  better,"  said  George  in  a  calm,  as   we 
[41] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

climbed  like  a  bat  above  them  all.  "But 
some  skippers  will  navigate  without  enough 
lift.  What  does  that  Tad-boat  think  she  is 
doing,  Tim?" 

"Play in'  kiss  in  the  ring,"  was  Tim's  un- 
moved reply.  A  Trans-Asiatic  Direct  liner 
had  found  a  smooth  and  butted  into  it  full 
power.  But  there  was  a  vortex  at  the  tail 
of  that  smooth,  so  the  T.  A.  D.  was  flipped 
out  like  a  pea  from  off  a  fingernail,  braking 
madly  as  she  fled  down  and  all  but  over- 
ending. 

"Now  I  hope  she  's  satisfied,"  said  Tim. 
"I  'm  glad  I  'm  not  a  Mark  Boat  .  .  . 
Do  I  want  help?"  The  C.  G.  dial  had 
caught  his  ear.  "George,  you  may  tell  that 
gentleman  with  my  love  —  love,  remember, 
George  —  that  I  do  not  want  help.  Who 
is  the  oflScious  sardine-tin?" 

"ARimouski  drogher  on  the  lookout  for 
a  tow." 

[42] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  :\TAIL 

"Very  kind  of  the  Rimouski  drogher. 
This  postal  packet  is  n't  being  towed  at 
present." 

"Those  droghers  will  go  anywhere  on  a 
chance  of  salvage,  '  George  explained.  "  We 
call  'em  kitti wakes." 

A  long-beaked,  bright  steel  ninety-footer 
floated  at  ease  for  one  instant  within  hail  of 
us,  her  slings  coiled  ready  for  rescues,  and  a 
single  hand  in  her  open  tower.  He  was 
smoking.  Surrendered  to  the  insurrection 
of  the  airs  through  which  we  tore  our  way, 
he  lay  in  absolute  peace.  I  saw  the  smoke  of 
his  pipe  ascend  untroubled  ere  his  boat 
dropped,  it  seemed,  like  a  stone  in  a  well. 

We  had  just  cleared  the  Mark  Boat  and 
her  disorderly  neighbours  when  the  storm 
ended  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun.  A  shoot- 
ing-star to  northward  filled  the  sky  with 
the  green  blink  of  a  meteorite  dissipating 
itself  in  our  atmosphere. 
[43] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

Said  George:  "That  may  iron  out  all  the 
tensions."  Even  as  he  spoke,  the  conflict- 
ing winds  came  to  rest;  the  levels  filled;  the 
laterals  died  out  in  long  easy  swells ;  the  air- 
ways were  smoothed  before  us.  In  less  than 
three  minutes  the  covey  round  the  Mark 
Boat  had  shipped  their  power-lights  and 
whirred  away  upon  their  businesses. 

"^^^lat's  happened?"  I  gasped.  The 
nerve-storm  within  and  the  volt-tingle  with- 
out had  passed:  my  inflators  weighed  like 
lead. 

"God,  He  knows!"  said  Captain  George, 
soberly.  "That  old  shooting-star's  skin- 
friction  has  discharged  the  different  levels. 
I  've  seen  it  happen  before.  Phew!  What 
a  relief!" 

We   dropped  from   ten   to   six  thousand 

and  got  rid  of  our  clammy  suits.     Tim  shut 

off  and  stepped  out  of  the  Frame.      The 

Mark  Boat  was  coming  up  behind  us.      He 

[44] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

opened  the  colloid  in  that  heavenly  stillness 
and  mopped  his  face. 

"Hello,  Williams!"  he  cried.  "A  degree 
or  two  out  o'  station,  ain't  you  ?" 

"May  be,"  was  the  answer  from  the 
Mark  Boat.  "I've  had  some  company 
this  evening." 

"  So  I  noticed.  Was  n't  that  quite  a  little 
draught  .J^" 

"I  warned  you.  \Miy  didn't  you  pull 
out  round  by  Disko  ?  The  east-bound 
packets  have." 

"  Me  ?  Not  till  I  'm  running  a  Polar  con- 
sumptives' Sanatorium  boat.  I  was  squint- 
ing through  a  colloid  before  you  were  out  of 
your  cradle,  my  son." 

"I'd  be  the  last  man  to  deny  it,"  the 
captain  of  the  Mark  Boat  replies  softly. 
"The  way  you  handled  her  just  now  — 
I  'm  a  pretty  fair  judge  of  traffic  in 
a  volt-flurry  —  it  was  a  thousand  revo- 
[45] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


lutions   beyond    anything   even    /  've    ever 
seen." 

Tim's  back  supples  visibly  to  this  oiling. 
Captain  George  on  the  c.  p.  winks  and  points 
to  the  portrait  of  a  singularly  attractive 
maiden  pinned  up  on  Tim's  telescope- 
bracket  above  the  steering-wheel. 

I  see.     WTiolly  and  entirely  do  I  see! 

There  is  some  talk  overhead  of  "coming 
round  to  tea  on  Friday,"  a  brief  report  of 
the  derelict's  fate,  and  Tim  volunteers  as  he 
descends:  "For  an  A.  B.  C.  man  young 
Williams  is  less  of  a  high-tension  fool 
than  some  .  .  .  Were  you  thinking  of 
taking  her  on,  George?  Then  I'll  just 
have  a  look  round  that  port -thrust  — 
seems  to  me  it 's  a  trifle  warm  —  and  we  '11 
jog  along." 

The  Mark  Boat  hums  off  joyously   and 
hangs  herself   up   in  her  appointed  eyrie. 
Here    she    will    stay,    a    shutterless    obser- 
[46] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

vatory;  a  life-boat  station;  a  salvage  tug; 
a  court  of  ultimate  appeal-cum-meteor- 
ological  bureau  for  three  hundred  miles  in 
all  directions,  till  Wednesday  next  when  her 
relief  slides  across  the  stars  to  take  her  buf- 
feted place.  Her  black  hull,  double  con- 
ning-tower,  and  ever-ready  slings  represent 
all  that  remains  to  the  planet  of  that  odd  old 
word  authority.  She  is  responsible  only  to 
the  Aerial  Board  of  Control  —  the  A.  B.  C. 
of  which  Tim  speaks  so  flippantly.  But 
that  semi-elected,  semi-nominated  body  of  a 
few  score  persons  of  both  sexes,  controls  this 
planet.  '* Transportation  is  Civilization," 
our  motto  runs.  Theoretically,  we  do  what 
we  please  so  long  as  we  do  not  interfere  with 
the  traffic  and  all  it  implies.  Practically,  the 
A.  B.  C.  confirms  or  annuls  all  international 
arrangements  and,  to  judge  from  its  last  re- 
port, finds  our  tolerant,  humorous,  lazy 
little  planet  only  too  ready  to  shift  the  whole 
[47] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

burden  of  private  administration  on  its 
shoulders. 

I  discuss  this  with  Tim,  sipping  mate  on 
the  c.  p.  while  George  fans  her  along  over 
the  white  blur  of  the  Banks  in  beautiful 
upward  curves  of  fifty  miles  each.  The 
dip-dial  translates  them  on  the  tape  in  flow- 
ing freehand. 

Tim  gathers  up  a  skein  of  it  and  surveys 
the  last  few  feet,  which  record  "  162's"  path 
through  the  volt-flurry. 

"I  have  n't  had  a  fever-chart  like  this  to 
show  up  in  five  years,"  he  says  ruefully. 

A  postal  packet's  dip-dial  records  every 
yard  of  every  run.  The  tapes  then  go  to 
the  A.  B.  C,  which  collates  and  makes 
composite  photographs  of  them  for  the 
instruction  of  captains.  Tim  studies  his 
irrevocable  past,  shaking  his  head. 

"Hello!  Here's  a  fifteen-hundred-foot 
drop  at  eighty-five  degrees!  We  must 
[48] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

have   been    standing   on    our   heads   then, 
George." 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  George  answers.  "  I 
fancied  I  noticed  it  at  the  time." 

George  may  not  have  Captain  Purnall's 
catlike  swiftness,  but  he  is  all  an  artist  to  the 
tips  of  the  broad  fingers  that  play  on  the 
shunt-stops.  The  delicious  flight-curves 
come  away  en  the  tape  with  never  a  waver. 
The  Mark  Boat's  vertical  spindle  of  light 
lies  down  to  eastward,  setting  in  the  face  of 
the  following  stars.  Westward,  where  no 
planet  should  rise,  the  triple  verticals  of 
Trinity  Bay  (we  keep  still  to  the  South- 
ern route)  make  a  low-lifting  haze.  We 
seem  the  only  thing  at  rest  under  all  the 
heavens;  floating  at  ease  till  the  earth's 
revolution  shall  turn  up  our  landing- 
towers. 

And  minute  by  minute  our  silent  clock 
gives  us  a  sixteen-second  mile. 
[49] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

' '  Some  fine  night, ' '  says  Tim.  ' '  We  '  11  be 
even  with  that  clock's  Master.'' 

"He's  coming  now,"  says  George,  over 
his  shoulder.  "I'm  chasing  the  night 
west." 

The  stars  ahead  dim  no  more  than  if  a 
film  of  mist  had  been  drawn  under  unob- 
served, but  the  deep  air-boom  on  our  skin 
changes  to  a  joyful  shout. 

"The  dawn-gust,"  says  Tim.  "It'll 
go  on  to  meet  the  Sun.  Look!  Look! 
There's  the  dark  being  crammed  back  over 
our  bo w^!  Come  to  the  after-colloid.  I'll 
show  you  something. 

The  engine-room  is  hot  and  stuffy;  the 
clerks  in  the  coach  are  asleep,  and  the  Slave 
of  the  Ray  is  near  to  follow  them.  Tim 
slides  open  the  aft  colloid  and  reveals  the 
curve  of  the  world  —  the  ocean's  deepest 
purple  —  edged  with  fuming  and  intolerable 
gold.  Then  the  Sun  rises  and  through  the 
[50] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

colloid  strikes  out  our  lamps.  Tim  scowls 
in  his  face. 

"Squirrels  in  a  cage,"  he  mutters. 
"That's  all  we  are.  Squirrels  in  a  cage! 
He  's  going  twice  as  fast  as  us.  Just  you 
wait  a  few  years,  my  shining  friend  and 
we  'II  take  steps  that  will  amaze  you.  We'll 
Joshua  you!" 

Yes,  that  is  our  dream:  to  turn  all  earth 
into  the  Vale  of  Ajalon  at  our  pleasure.  So 
far,  we  can  drag  out  the  dawn  to  twice  its 
normal  length  in  these  latitudes.  But  some 
day  —  even  on  the  Equator  —  we  shall  hold 
the  Sun  level  in  his  full  stride. 

Now  we  look  down  on  a  sea  thronged  with 
heavy  traflfic.  A  big  submersible  breaks 
water  suddenly.  Another  and  another 
follow  with  a  swash  and  a  suck  and  a 
savage  bubbling  of  relieved  pressures. 
The  deep-sea  freighters  are  rising  to  lung 
up  after  the  long  night,  and  the  leisurely 
[51] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

ocean  is  all  patterned  with  peacock's  eyes 
of  foam. 

"  We  '11  lung  up,  too,"  says  Tim,  and  when 
we  return  to  the  c.  p.  George  shuts  off,  the 
colloids  are  opened,  and  the  fresh  air  sweeps 
her  out.  There  is  no  hurry.  The  old  con- 
tracts (they  will  be  revised  at  the  end  of  the 
year)  allow  twelve  hours  for  a  run  which  any 
packet  can  put  behind  her  in  ten.  So  we 
breakfast  in  the  arms  of  an  easterly  slant 
which  pushes  us  along  at  a  languid  twenty. 

To  enjoy  life,  and  tobacco,  begin  both  on 
a  sunny  morning  half  a  mile  or  so  above  the 
dappled  Atlantic  cloud-belts  and  after  a 
volt-flurry  which  has  cleared  and  tempered 
your  nerves.  AMiile  we  discussed  the  thick- 
ening traffic  with  the  superiority  that  comes 
of  having  a  high  level  reserved  to  ourselves, 
we  heard  (and  I  for  the  first  time)  the 
morning  hymn  on  a  Hospital  boat. 

She  was  cloaked  by  a  skein  of  ravelled  fluff 
[52] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


beneath  us  and  we  caught  the  chant  before 
she  rose  into  the  sunlight.  ''Oh,  ye  Wind^ 
oj  God,"  sang  the  unseen  voices:  ''bless  ye 
the  Lord!  Praise  Him  and  magnify  Him 
forever!" 

We  sHd  off  our  caps  and  joined  in.  When 
our  shadow  fell  across  her  great  open  plat- 
forms they  looked  up  and  stretched  out  their 
hands  neighbourly  while  they  sang.  We 
could  see  the  doctors  and  the  nurses  and  the 
white-button-like  faces  of  the  cot-patients. 
She  passed  slowly  beneath  us,  heading 
northward,  her  hull,  wet  with  the  dews  of 
the  night,  all  ablaze  in  the  sunshine.  So 
took  she  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  and  vanished, 
her  song  continuing.  Oh,  ye  holy  and 
humble  men  of  heart,  bless  ye  the  Lord! 
Praise  Him  and  magnify  Him  forever. 

**She  's  a  public  lunger  or  she  would  n't 
have  been  singing  the  Benedicite;  and  she  *s 
a  Greenlander  or  she  would  n't  have  snow- 
[53] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

blinds  over  her  colloids,"  said  George  at 
last.  "She'll  be  bound  for  Frederikshavn 
or  one  of  the  Glacier  sanatoriums  for  a 
month.  If  she  was  an  accident  ward  she  'd 
be  hung  up  at  the  eight-thousand-foot  level. 
Yes  —  consumptives." 

"Funny  how  the  new  things  are  the  old 
things.  I  've  read  in  books,"  Tim  answered, 
"that  savages  used  to  haul  their  sick  and 
wounded  up  to  the  tops  of  hills  because  mi- 
crobes were  fewer  there.  We  hoist  'em  into 
sterilized  air  for  a  while.  Same  idea.  How 
much  do  the  doctors  say  we  've  added  to 
the  average  life  of  a  man  ?" 

"Thirty  years,"  says  George  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.  "Are  we  going  to  spend 
'em  all  up  here,  Tim?" 

"Flap  along,  then.  Flap  along.  Who's 
hindering.''"  the  senior  captain  laughed,  as 
we  went  in. 

We  held  a  good  lift  to  clear  the  coastwise 
[54] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

and  Continental  shipping;  and  we  had  need 
of  it.  Though  our  route  is  in  no  sense  a 
populated  one,  there  is  a  steady  trickle  of 
traffic  this  way  along.  We  met  Hudson 
Bay  furriers  out  of  the  Great  Preserve, 
hurrying  to  make  their  departure  from 
Bonavista  with  sable  and  black  fox  for  the 
insatiable  markets.  We  over-crossed  Kee- 
watin  liners,  small  and  cramped;  but  their 
captains,  who  see  no  land  between  Trepassy 
and  Blanco,  know  what  gold  they  bring 
back  from  West  Africa.  Trans- Asiatic 
Directs,  we  met,  soberly  ringing  the  world 
round  the  Fiftieth  Meridian  at  an  honest 
seventy  knots;  and  white-painted  Ackroyd 
&  Hunt  fruiters  out  of  the  south  fled 
beneath  us,  their  ventilated  hulls  whistling 
like  Chinese  kites.  Their  market  is  in  the 
North  among  the  northern  sanatoria  where 
you  can  smell  their  grapefruit  and  bananas 
across  the  cold  snows.  Argentine  beef 
[55] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

boats  we  sighted  too,  of  enormous  capacity 
and  unlovely  outline.  They,  too,  feed  the 
northern  health  stations  in  ice-bound  ports 
where  submersibles  dare  not  rise. 

Yellow-bellied  ore-flats  and  Ungava 
petrol-tanks  punted  down  leisurely  out  of 
the  north  like  strings  of  unfrightened  wild 
duck.  It  does  not  pay  to  "fly"  minerals 
and  oil  a  mile  farther  than  is  necessary;  but 
the  risks  of  transhipping  to  submersibles  in 
the  ice-pack  off  Nain  or  Hebron  are  so  great 
that  these  heavy  freighters  fly  down  to  Hali- 
fax direct,  and  scent  the  air  as  they  go. 
They  are  the  biggest  tramps  aloft  except 
the  Athabasca  grain-tubs.  But  these  last, 
now  that  the  wheat  is  moved,  are  busy, 
over  the  world's  shoulder,  timber-lifting  in 
Siberia. 

We  held  to  the  St.  Lawrence  (it  is  astonish- 
ing how  the  old  water-ways  still  pull  us 
children  of  the  air),  and  followed  his  broad 
[56] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 

line  of  black  between  its  drifting  ice  blocks, 
all  down  the  Park  that  the  wisdom  of 
our  fathers  —  but  every  one  knows  the 
Quebec  run. 

We  dropped  to  the  Heights  Receiving 
Towers  twenty  minutes  ahead  of  time  and 
there  hung  at  ease  till  the  Yokohama  In- 
termediate Packet  could  pull  out  and  give 
us  our  proper  slip.  It  was  curious  to  watch 
the  action  of  the  holding-down  clips  all  along 
the  frosty  river  front  as  the  boats  cleared  or 
came  to  rest.  A  big  Hamburger  was  leav- 
ing Pont  Levis  and  her  crew,  unshipping  the 
platform  railings,  began  to  sing  "Elsinore" 
—  the  oldest  of  our  chanteys.  You  know 
it  of  course: 

Mother  Rugen's  tea-house  on  the  Baltic  — 
Forty  couple  waltzing  on  the  floorl 

And  you  can  watch  my  Ray, 

For  I  must  go  away 

And  dance  with  Ella  Sweyn  at  EUinorel 

[57] 


WITH  THE  NIGHT  MAIL 


Then,  while  they  sweated  home  the  cover- 
ing-plates : 

Nar-Nor-Nor-Nor- 
West  from  Sourabaya  to  the  Baltic  — 

Ninety  knot  an  hour  to  the  Skaw! 
Mother  Rugen's  tea-house  on  the  Baltic 

And  a  dance  with  Ella  Sweyn  at  Elsinore! 

The  clips  parted  with  a  gesture  of  indig- 
nant dismissal,  as  though  Quebec,  glittering 
under  her  snows,  were  casting  out  these  light 
and  unworthy  lovers.  Our  signal  came 
from  the  Heights.  Tim  turned  and  floated 
up,  but  surely  then  it  was  with  passion- 
ate appeal  that  the  great  tower  arms  flung 
open  —  or  did  I  think  so  because  on  the 
upper  staging  a  little  hooded  figure  also 
opened  her  arms  wide  towards  her  father  ? 

In  ten  seconds  the  coach  with  its  clerks 
clashed  down  to  the  receiving-caisson;    the 
hostlers  displaced  the  engineers  at  the  idle 
[68] 


"I'VK  ASKKU  HIM  TO  TKA  OX  FRIDAT' 


WITH  THE  NIGHT   IVIAIL 

turbines,  and  Tim,  prouder  of  this  than  all, 
introduced  me  to  the  maiden  of  the  photo- 
graph on  the  shelf.  "And  by  the  way/* 
said  he  to  her,  stepping  forth  in  sunshine 
under  the  hat  of  civil  life,  "I  saw  young 
Williams  in  the  Mark  Boat.  I  've  asked 
him  to  tea  on  Friday.  " 


[59] 


AERIAL  BOARD   OF  CONTROL 
BULLETIN 


AerifiJ  Board  of  Control 


Lights 

No   changes  in  English  Inland  lights  for  week  ending 

Dec.  18. 

Planetary  Coastal  Lights.  Week  ending  Dec.  18. 
Verde  inclined  guide-light  changes  from  1st  proximo 
to  triple  flash  —  green  white  green  —  in  place  of 
occulting  red  as  heretofore.  The  warning  light 
for  Harmattan  winds  will  be  continuous  vertical 
glare  (white)  on  all  oases  of  trans-Saharan  N.  E. 
by  E.   Main   Routes. 

Invercargil  (N.  Z.)  —  From  1st  prox. :  extreme  southerly 
light  (double  red)  will  exhibit  white  beam  inclined 
4.T  degrees  on  approach  of  Southerly  Buster.  Traffic 
flies  high  off  this  coast  between  April  and  October. 

Table  Bay  —  Devil's  Peak  Glare  removed  to  Simonsberg. 
Traffic  making  Table  Mountain  coastwise  keep  all 
lights  from  Three  Anchor  Bay  at  least  five  shipping 
hundred  feet  under,  and  do  not  round  to  till  beyond 
E.  shoulder  Devil's  Peak. 

Sandheads  Light  —  Green  triple  vertical  marks  new 
private  landing-stage  for  Bay  and  Burma  traffic  only. 

Snaefell  Jokul  —  White  occulting  light  withdrawn 
for  winter. 

Patagonia  —  No  summer  light  south  C.  Pilar.  This 
includes  Staten  Island  and  Port  Stanley. 

C.  Navarin  —  Quadruple  fog  flash  (white),  one  minute 
intervals  (new). 


AERIAL  BOARD   OF  CONTROL 


East  Cape  —  Fog  flash  —  single  white  with  single  bomb, 

30  sec.  intervals  (new). 
Malayan    Archipelago    lights  unreliable  owing  erup- 
tions.      Lay    from    Somerset    to    Singapore    direct, 
keeping  highest  levels. 

For  the  Board: 

Catterthun     ^ 

St.  Just  >    Lights. 

Van  Hedder    ) 

Casualties 

Week  ending  Dec.  18th. 

Sable    Island    Landing    Towers  —  Green    freighter, 

number   indistinguishable,   up-ended,  and  fore-tank 

pierced  after    collision,  passed    300-ft.  level    2   p.m. 

Dec.  15th.     Watched  to  water  and  pithed  by  Mark 

Boat. 
N.  F.  Banks  —  Postal  Packet  162  reports  Halma  freighter 

(Fowey  —  St.     John's)     abandoned,     leaking    after 

weather,  46°  15'    N.  50°  15'   W.     Crew  rescued  by 

Planet  liner  Asteroid.     Watched  to  water  and  pithed 

by  postal  packet,  Dec.  14th. 
Kerguelen  Mark  Boat  reports  last  call  from  Cymena 

freighter    (Gayer    Tong-Huk   &   Co.)  taking    water 

and  sinking  in  snow-storm  South  McDonald  Islands. 

No  wreckage  recovered.     Addresses,  etc.,  of  crew  at 

all  A.  B.  C.  offices. 
Fezz.vn  —  T.  A.  D.  freighter  Ulema  taken  ground  during 

Harmattan  on  Akakus  Range.   Under  plates  strained. 

Crew  at  Ghat  where  repairing  Dec.  13th. 
Biscay,  Mark    Bo.\t    reports    Cardncci   (Valandingham 

line)    slightly    spiked    in    western    gorge    Point    de 

[62] 


AERIAL  BOARD   OF  CONTROL 


Benasque.  Passengers  transferred  Andorra  (same 
line).  Barcelona  Mark  Boat  salving  cargo  De(>.  12th. 
Ascension,  Mark  Boat  —  Wreck  of  unknown  racing- 
plane,  Parden  rudder,  wire-sliffened  xylonite  vans,  and 
Harliss  engine-seating,  sighted  and  salved  7°  20'  S. 
18°  41'  W.  Dec.  15th.     Photos  at  all  A.  B.  C.  offices. 

Missing 

No  answer  to  General  Call  having  been  received  during 
the  last  week  from  following  overdues,  they  are  posted 
as  missing. 

Atlantis,  W.  17630 Canton-Valparaiso 

Atidliumla,  \V.  809 Stockholm-Odessa 

Berenice,  W.  2206 Riga-Vladivostock 

Draco,  E.  446 Coventry-Puntas  Arenas 

Tontine,  E.  3068 C.  Wrath-Ungava 

Wu-Sung,  E.  41776 Hankow-Lobito  Bay 

General  Call  (all  Mark  Boats)  out  for: 

Jane  Ei/re,  W.  6990     ....    Port  Rupert-City  of  Mexico 
Santander,  W.  5514       ....    Gobi-desert-Manila 
V.  Edmundsun,  E.  9690    .     .     .     Kandahar-Fiume 

Broke  for  Obstruction,  and  Quitting  Levels 

Valkykie  (racing  plane),  A.  J.  Hartley  owner,  New  York 

(twice  warned). 
Geisha  (racing  plane),  S.  van  Cott  owner,  Philadelphia 

(twice  warned). 
Marvel  of  Peru   (racing   plane),  J.  X.  Peixoto  owner, 
Rio  de  Janeiro  (twice  warned). 
For  the  Board: 

Lazareff         ^ 
McKeough      >     Traffic. 

GOLDBLATT        ) 

[63] 


NOTES 


High-Level  Sleet 

The  Northern  weather  so  far  shows  no  sign  of  im- 
provement. From  all  quarters  come  complaints  of  the 
unusual  prevalence  of  sleet  at  the  higher  levels.  Racing- 
planes  and  digs  alike  have  suffered  severely — the  former 
from  unequal  deposits  of  half-frozen  slush  on  their  vans 
(and  only  those  who  have  "held  up"  a  badly  balanced  plane 
in  a  cross  wind  know  what  that  means),  and  the  latter 
from  loaded  bows  and  snow-cased  bodies.  As  a  con- 
sequence, the  Northern  and  Northwestern  upper  levels 
have  been  practically  abandoned,  and  the  high  fliers 
have  returned  to  the  ignoble  security  of  the  Three, 
Five,  and  Six  hundred  foot  levels.  But  there  remain  a 
few  undaunted  sun-hunters  who,  in  spite  of  frozen  stays 
and  ice-jammed  connecting-rods,  still  haunt  the  blue 
empjTean. 

Bat-Boat  Racing 

The  scandals  of  the  past  few  years  have  at  last  moved 
the  yachting  world  to  concerted  action  in  regard  to  "bat" 
boat  racing. 

We  have  been  treated  to  the  spectacle  of  what  are 
practically  keeled  racing-planes  driven  a  clear  five  foot  or 
more  above  the  water,  and  only  eased  down  to  touch 
their  so-called  "native  element"  as  they  near  the  line. 
Judges  and  starters  have  been  conveniently  blind  to  this 
absurdity,  but  the  public  demonstration  off  St.  Catherine's 
Light  at  the  Autumn  Regattas  has  borne  ample,  if  tardy, 

[65] 


NOTES 


fruit.  In  future  the  "bat"  is  to  be  a  boat,  and  the  long- 
unheeded  demand  of  the  true  sportsman  for  "no  dayh'ght 
under  mid-keel  in  smooth  water"  is  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
conceded.  The  new  rule  severely  restricts  plane  area 
and  lift  alike.  The  gas  compartments  are  permitted  both 
fore  and  aft, as  in  the  old  type,  but  the  water- ballast  central 
tank  is  rendered  obligatory.  These  things  work,  if  not 
for  perfection,  at  least  for  the  evolution  of  a  sane  and 
wholesome  waterhorne  cruiser.  The  type  of  rudder  is 
unaffected  by  the  new  rules,  so  we  may  expect  to  see  the 
Long-Davidson  make  (the  patent  on  which  has  just 
expired)  come  largely  into  use  henceforward,  though  the 
strain  on  the  sternpost  in  turning  at  speeds  over  forty 
miles  an  hour  is  admittedly  very  severe.  But  bat-boat 
racing  has  a  great  future  before  it. 


{66] 


CORRESPONDENCE 


Correspondence 


Skylarking  on  the  Equator 

To  THE  Editor  —  Only  last  week,  while  crossing  the 
Equator  (W.  26.15),  I  became  aware  of  a  furious  and 
irregular  cannonading  some  fifteen  or  twenty  knots 
S.  4  E.  Descending  to  the  500  ft.  level,  I  found  a  party 
of  Transylvanian  tourists  engaged  in  exploding  scores  of 
the  largest  pattern  atmospheric  bombs  (A.  B.  C.  standard) 
and,  in  the  intervals  of  their  pleasing  labours,  firing  bow 
and  stern  smoke-ring  swivels.  This  orgie  —  I  can  give  it 
no  other  name — went  on  for  at  least  two  hours,  and  natur- 
ally produced  violent  electric  derangements.  My  com- 
passes, of  course,  were  thrown  out,  my  bow  was  struck 
twice,  and  I  received  two  brisk  shocks  from  the  lower 
platform-rail.  On  remonstrating,  I  was  told  that  these 
"  professors "  were  engaged  in  scientific  experiments. 
The  extent  of  their  "  scientific  "  knowledge  may  be 
judged  by  the  fact  that  they  expected  to  produce  (I  give 
their  own  words)  "  a  little  blue  sky  "  if  "  they  went  on 
long  enough."  This  in  the  heart  of  the  Doldrums  at 
450  feet!  I  have  no  objection  to  any  amount  of  blue 
sky  in  its  proper  place  (it  can  be  found  at  the  2,000  level 
for  practically  twelve  months  out  of  the  year),  but  I 
submit,  with  all  deference  to  the  educational  needs  of 
Transylvania,  that  "sky-larking"  in  the  centre  of  a  main- 
travelled  road  where,  at  the  best  of  times,  electricity  liter- 
ally drips  off  one's  stanchions  and  screw  blades,  is  unnec- 
essary. WTien  ray  friends  had  finished,  the  road  was  seared, 
and  blown,  and  pitted  with  unequal  pressure-lavers,  spirals, 

[68] 


CORRESPONDENCE 


vortices,  and  readjustments  for  at  least  an  hour.  I 
pitched  badly  twice  in  an  upward  rush  —  solely  due  to 
these  diabolical  throw-downs  —  that  came  near  to  wrecking 
my  propeller.  Equatorial  work  at  low  levels  is  trying 
enough  in  all  conscience  without  the  added  terrors  of 
scientific  hooliganism  in  the  Doldrums. 

Rhyl.  J.Vincent  Mathews. 

[We  entirely  sympathize  with  Professor  Mathews's  views, 
but  unluckily  till  the  Board  sees  fit  to  further  regulate 
the  Southern  areas  in  which  scientific  experiments  may 
be  conducted,  we  shall  always  be  exposed  to  the  risk 
which  our  correspondent  describes.  Unfortunately,  a 
chimera  bombinating  in  a  vacuum  is,  nowadays,  only 
too  capable  of  producing  secondary  causes.  —  Editor.] 

Answers  to  Correspondents 

ViGiLANS  —  The  Laws  of  Auroral  Derangements  are 
still  imperfectly  understood.  Any  overheated  motor 
may  of  course  "seize"  without  warning;  but  so  many 
complaints  have  reached  us  of  accidents  similar  to  yours 
while  shooting  the  Aurora  that  we  are  inclined  to  believe 
with  Lavalle  that  the  upper  strata  of  the  Aurora  Borealis 
are  practically  one  big  electric  "leak,"  and  that  the  paral- 
ysis of  your  engines  was  due  to  complete  magnetization 
of  all  metallic  parts.  Low-flying  planes  often  "glue  up" 
when  near  the  Magnetic  Pole,  and  there  is  no  reason  in 
science  why  the  same  disability  should  not  be  experienced 
at  higher  levels  when  the  Auroras  are  "delivering"  strongly. 

Indignant  —  On  your  own  showing,  you  were  not 
under  control.  That  you  could  not  hoist  the  necessary 
N.  U.  C.  lights  on  approaching  a  trafiic-lane  because  your 
electrics  had  short-circuited  is  a  misfortune  which  might 
befall  any  one.     The  A.  B.  C,  being  responsible  for  the 

[oy] 


CORRESPONDENCE 


planet's  traffic,  cannot,  however,  make  allowance  for  this 
kind  of  misfortune.  A  reference  to  the  Code  will  show 
that  you  were  fined  on  the  lower  scale. 

Planiston  —  (1)  The  Five  Thousand  Kilometre  (over- 
land) was  won  last  year  by  L.  V.  Rautsch,  R.  M.  Rautsch, 
his  brother,  in  the  same  week  pulling  off  the  Ten  Thousand 
(oversea).  R.  M.'s  average  worked  out  at  a  fraction  over 
500  kilometres  per  hour,  thus  constituting  a  record.  (2) 
Theoretically,  there  is  no  limit  to  the  lift  of  a  dirigible. 
For  commercial  and  practical  purposes  15,000  tons  is 
accepted  as  the  most  manageable. 

Paterfamilias  —  None  whatever.  He  is  liable  for 
direct  damage  both  to  your  chimneys  and  any  collateral 
damage  caused  by  fall  of  bricks  into  garden,  etc.,  etc. 
Bodily  inconvenience  and  mental  anguish  may  be  included, 
but  the  average  jury  are  not,  as  a  rule,  men  of  sentiment. 
If  you  can  prove  that  his  grapnel  removed  any  portion 
of  your  roof,  you  had  better  rest  your  case  on  decover- 
ture  of  domicile  (See  Parkins  v.  Duboulay).  We  entirely 
sympathize  with  your  position,  but  the  night  of  the  14th 
was  stormy  and  confused,  and  —  you  may  have  to  anchor 
on  a  stranger's  chimney  yourself  some  night.  Verbumsap! 

Aldebaran  —  War,  as  a  paying  concern,  ceased  in 
1967.  (2)  The  Convention  of  London  expressly  reserves 
to  every  nation  the  right  of  waging  war  so  long  as  it  does 
not  interfere  with  the  world's  traffic.  (3)  The  A.  B.  C. 
was  constituted  in  1949. 

L.  M.  D. —  Keep  her  dead  head-on  at  half -power,  taking 
advantage  of  the  lulls  to  speed  up  and  creep  into  it.  She 
will  strain  much  less  this  way  than  in  quartering  across  a 
gale.  (2)  Nothing  is  to  be  gained  by  reversing  into  a  fol- 
lowing gale,  and  there  is  always  risk  of  a  turn-over.  (3) 
The  formulae  for  stun'sle  brakes  are  uniformly  unreliable, 
and  will  continue  to  be  so  as  long  as  air  is  compressible. 

[70] 


CORRESPONDENCE 


Pegamoid  —  Personally  we  prefer  glass  or  flux  com- 
pounds to  any  other  material  for  winter  work  nose-caps 
as  being  absolutely  non-hygroscopic.  (2)  We  cannot 
recommend   any  particular  make. 

PuLMONAR  —  For  the  symptoms  you  describe,  try  the 
Gobi  Desert  Sanitaria.  The  low  levels  of  the  Saharan 
Sanitaria  are  against  them  except  at  the  outset  of  the 
disease.  (2)  We  do  not  recommend  boarding-houses  or 
hotels  in  this  column. 

Begixxer  —  On  still  days  the  air  above  a  large  inhab- 
ited city  being  slightly  warmer — i.  e.,  thinner — than  the 
atmosphere  of  the  surrounding  country,  a  plane  drops  a 
little  on  entering  the  rarefied  area,  precisely  as  a  ship 
sinks  a  little  in  fresh  water.  Hence  the  phenomena  of 
"jolt"  and  your  "inexplicable  collisions"  with  factory 
chimneys.     In  air,  as  on  earth,  it  is  safest  to  fly  high. 

Emergency  —  There  is  only  one  rule  of  the  road  in  air, 
earth, and  water.     Do  you  want  the  firmament  to  yourself  ? 

PicciOLA  —  Both  Poles  have  been  overdone  in  Art 
and  Literature.  L^ave  them  to  Science  for  the  next 
twenty  years.    You  did  not  send  a  stamp  with  your  verses. 

North  Nigeria  — The  Mark  Boat  was  within  her  right 
in  warning  you  up  on  the  Reserve.  The  shadow  of  a 
low-flying  dirigible  scares  the  game.  You  can  buy  all 
the  photos  you  need  at  Sokoto. 

New  Era  —  It  is  not  etiquette  to  overcross  an  A.  B.  C. 
oflacial's  boat  without  asking  permission.  He  is  one  of 
the  body  responsible  for  the  planet's  trafiic,  and  for  that 
reason  must  not  be  interfered  with.  You,  presumably, 
are  out  on  your  own  business  or  pleasure,  and  should 
leave  him  alone.  For  humanity's  sake  don't  try  to  be 
"democratic." 


[71] 


REVIEWS 


Reviews 

The  Life  of  Xavier  Lavalle 

{Reviewed  by  Rene  Talland.     Ecole  Aeronautique,  Paris) 

Ten  years  ago  Lavalle,  "that  imperturbable  dreamer  of 
the  heavens,"  as  Lazareff  hailed  him,  gathered  together 
the  fruits  of  a  lifetime's  labour,  and  gave  it,  with  well- 
justified  contempt,  to  a  world  bound  hand  and  foot  to 
Barald's  Theory  of  Vertices  and  "compensating  electric 
nodes."  "They  shall  see,"  he  wrote  —  in  that  immortal 
postscript  to  "The  Heart  of  the  Cyclone"  —  "the  Laws 
whose  existence  they  derided  written  in  fire  beneath  them." 

"But  even  here,"  he  continues,  "there  is  no  finality. 
Better  a  thousand  times  my  conclusions  should  be  dis- 
credited than  that  my  dead  name  should  lie  across  the 
threshold  of  the  temple  of  Science  —  a  bar  to  further 
inquiry." 

So  died  Lavalle  —  a  prince  of  the  Powers  of  the  Air, 
and  even  at  his  funeral  Cellier  jested  at  "him  who  had 
gone  to  discover  the  secrets  of  the  Aurora  Borealis." 

If  I  choose  thus  to  be  banal,  it  is  only  to  remind  you  that 
Cellier's  theories  are  to-day  as  exploded  as  the  ludicrous 
deductions  of  the  Spanish  school.  In  the  place  of  their 
fugitive  and  warring  dreams  we  have,  definitely,  Lavalle's 
Law  of  the  Cyclone  which  he  surprised  in  darkness  and 
cold  at  the  foot  of  the  overarching  throne  of  the  Aurora 
Borealis.  It  is  there  that  I,  intent  on  my  own  investiga- 
tions, have  passed  and  re-passed  a  hundred  times  the 
worn  leonine  face,  white  as  the  snow  beneath  him,  furrowed 

[73] 


REVIEWS 


with  wrinkles  like  the  seams  and  gashes  upon  the  North 
Cape;  the  nervous  hand,  integrally  a  part  of  the  mechanism 
of  his  flighter;  and  above  all,  the  wonderful  lambent  eyes 
turned  to  the  zenith. 

"Master,"  I  w^ould  cry  as  I  moved  respectfully  beneath 
him,  "what  is  it  you  seek  to-day  ?"  and  always  the  answer, 
clear  and  without  doubt,  from  above:  "The  old  secret, 
my  son!" 

The  immense  egotism  of  youth  forced  me  on  my  own 
path,  but  (cry  of  the  human  always!)  had  1  known  —  if  I 
had  known  —  I  would  many  times  have  bartered  my  poor 
laurels  for  the  privilege,  such  as  Tinsley  and  Herrera  pos- 
sess, of  having  aided  him  in  his  monumental  researches. 

It  is  to  the  filial  piety  of  Victor  Lavalle  that  we  owe  the 
two  volumes  consecrated  to  the  ground-life  of  his  father, 
so  full  of  the  holy  intimacies  of  the  domestic  hearth. 
Once  returned  from  the  abysms  of  the  utter  North  to  that 
little  house  upon  the  outskirts  of  Meudon,  it  was  not  the 
philosopher,  the  daring  observer,  the  man  of  iron  energy 
that  imposed  himself  on  his  family,  but  a  fat  and  even 
plaintive  jester,  a  farceur  incarnate  and  kindly,  the  co-equal 
of  his  children,  and,  it  must  be  written,  not  seldom  the 
comic  despair  of  Madame  Lavalle,  who,  as  she  writes  five 
years  after  the  marriage,  to  her  venerable  mother,  foimd 
"in  this  unequalled  intellect  whose  name  I  bear  the 
abandon  of  a  large  and  very  untidy  boy."  Here  is  her 
letter: 

"Xavier  returned  from  I  do  not  know  where  at  mid- 
night, absorbed  in  calculations  on  the  eternal  question  of 
his  Aurora  —  la  belle  Aurore,  whom  I  begin  to  hate. 
Instead  of  anchoring  —  I  had  set  out  the  guide-light  above 
our  roof,  so  he  had  but  to  descend  and  fasten  the  plane  — 
he  wandered,  profoundly  distracted,  above  the  town  with 

'[74] 


REVIEWS 


his  anchor  down!  Figure  to  yourself,  dear  mother,  it 
is  the  roof  of  the  mayor's  house  that  the  grapnel  first 
engages!  That  I  do  not  regret,  for  the  mayor's  wife  and 
I  are  not  s^Tnpathetic;  but  when  Xavier  uproots  my  pet 
araucaria  and  bears  it  across  the  garden  into  the  con- 
servatory I  protest  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  Little  Victor 
in  his  night-clothes  runs  to  the  window,  enormously  amused 
at  the  parabolic  flight  without  reason,  for  it  is  too  dark  to 
see  the  grapnel,  of  my  prized  tree.  The  Mayor  of  Meudon 
thunders  at  our  door  in  the  name  of  the  Law,  demanding, 
I  suppose,  my  husband's  head.  Here  is  the  conversation 
through  tlie  megaphone  —  Xavier  is  two  hundred  feet 
above  us. 

'"Mons.  Lavalle,  descend  and  make  reparation  for  out- 
rage of  domicile.     Descend,  Mons.  Lavalle!' 

"No  one  answers. 

"'Xavier  Lavalle,  in  the  name  of  the  Law,  descend  and 
submit  to  process  for  outrage  of  domicile.' 

"Xavier,  roused  from  his  calculations,  only  compre- 
hending the  last  words :  '  Outrage  of  domicile  ?  My  dear 
mayor,  who  is  the  man  that  has  corrupted  thy  Julie?' 

"The  mayor,  furious,  'Xavier  Lavalle ' 

"Xavier,  interrupting:  'I  have  not  that  felicity.  lam 
only  a  dealer  in  cyclones!' 

"My  faith,  he  raised  one  then!  All  Meudon  attended 
in  the  streets,  and  my  Xavier,  after  a  long  time  compre- 
hending what  he  had  done,  excused  himself  in  a  thousand 
apologies.  At  last  the  reconciliation  was  effected  in  our 
house  over  a  supper  at  two  in  the  morning  —  Julie  in  a 
wonderful  costume  of  compromises,  and  I  have  her  and 
the  mayor  pacified  in  beds  in  the  blue  room." 

And  on  the  next  day,  while  the  mayor  rebuilds  his  roof, 
her  Xavier  departs  anew  for  the  Aurora  Borealis,  there 


[T5] 


REVIEWS 


to  commence  his  life's  work.  M.  Victor  liavalle  tells  us 
of  that  historic  collision  (en  plane)  on  the  flank  of  Hecla 
between  Herrera,  then  a  pillar  of  the  Spanish  school,  and 
the  man  destined  to  confute  his  theories  and  lead  him 
intellectually  captive.  Even  through  the  years,  the 
immense  laugh  of  Lavalle  as  he  sustains  the  Spaniard's 
wrecked  plane,  and  cries:  "Courage!  I  shall  not  fall 
till  I  have  found  Truth,  and  I  hold  you  fast!"  rings  like  the 
call  of  trumpets.  This  is  that  I^avalle  whom  the  world, 
immersed  in  speculations  of  immediate  gain,  did  not  know 
nor  suspect  —  the  Lavalle  whom  they  adjudged  to  the  last  a 
pedant  and  a  theorist. 

The  human,  as  apart  from  the  scientific,  side  (developed 
in  his  own  volumes)  of  his  epoch-making  discoveries  is 
marked  with  a  simplicity,  clarity,  and  good  sense  beyond 
praise.  I  would  specially  refer  such  as  doubt  the  sustain- 
ing influence  of  ancestral  faith  upon  character  and  will 
to  the  eleventh  and  nineteenth  chapters,  in  which  are  con- 
tained the  opening  and  consummation  of  the  Tellurionical 
Records  extending  over  nine  years.  Of  their  tremendous 
significance  be  sure  that  the  modest  house  at  Meudon 
knew  as  little  as  that  the  Records  would  one  day  be  the 
world's  standard  in  all  official  meteorology.  It  was  enough 
for  them  that  their  Xavier  —  this  son,  this  father, 
this  husband  —  ascended  periodically  to  commune  with 
powers,  it  might  be  angelic,  beyond  their  comprehension, 
and  that  they  united  daily  in  prayers  for  his  safety. 

"Pray  for  me,"  he  says  upon  the  eve  of  each  of  his 
excursions,  and  returning,  with  an  equal  simplicity,  he 
renders  thanks  "after  supper  in  the  little  room  where  he 
kept  his  barometers." 

To  the  last  Lavalle  was  a  Catholic  of  the  old  school, 
accepting  —  he  who  had  looked  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
lightnings  —  the  dogmas  of  papal  infallibility,  of  absolu- 

[  7(,'  ] 


REVIEWS 


tion,    of   confession  —  of   relics   great   and   small.     Mar- 
vellous —  enviable  contradiction ! 

The  completion  of  the  Tellurionical  Records  closed  what 
Lavalle  himself  was  pleased  to  call  the  theoretical  side  of 
his  labours  —  labours  from  which  the  youngest  and  least 
impressionable  planeur  might  well  have  shrunk.  He  had 
traced  through  cold  and  heat,  across  the  deeps  of  the 
oceans,  with  instruments  of  his  own  invention,  over  the 
inhospitable  heart  of  the  polar  ice  and  the  sterile  visage 
of  the  deserts,  league  by  league,  patiently,  unweariedly, 
remorselessly,  from  their  ever-shifting  cradle  under  the 
magnetic  pole  to  their  exalted  death-bed  in  the  utmost 
ether  of  the  upper  atmosphere  —  each  one  of  the  Isocon- 
ical  Tellurions  —  Lavalle's  Curves,  as  we  call  them  to-day. 
He  had  disentangled  the  nodes  of  their  intersections, 
assigning  to  each  its  regulated  period  of  flux  and  reflux. 
Thus  equipped,  he  summons  Herrera  and  Tinsley,  his 
pupils,  to  the  final  demonstration  as  calmly  as  though  he 
were  ordering  his  flighter  for  some  midday  journey  to 
Marseilles. 

"I  have  proved  my  thesis,"  he  writes.  "It  remains  now 
only  that  you  should  witness  the  proof.  We  go  to  Manila 
to-morrow.  A  cyclone  will  form  off  the  Pescadores  S. 
17  E.  in  four  days,  and  will  reach  its  maximum  intensity 
in  twenty-seven  hours  after  inception.  It  is  there  I  will 
show  you  the  Truth." 

A  letter  heretofore  unpublished  from  Herrera  to 
Madame  Lavalle  tells  us  how  the  Master's  prophecy  was 
verified. 

(To  be  continued.) 


[77] 


ADVERTISING  SECTION 


MISCELLANEOUS 


WANTS 


D  EQIIRTD  IMMKDIATKLY.  FOR 

East  Africa,  a  thoroughly  competent 
Plane  and  DiriRible  Driver,  acquauiled 
with  Petrol  Radium  and  Helium  motors 
and  generators.  Low-level  work  onlv. 
but  must   understand  heavy-weight  digs 

MOSSAMEDES  TRANSPORT  AssOC 

84  Palestine  Buildings.  E    C 

A/fAN     WANTED—  DIG     DRIVER 
for  Southern  Alps  with  Saharan  sum- 
mer  trips.     High  levels,  high  speed,  high 
wages. 

Apply  M.  Sidney 
Hotel  San  Stefano.  Monte  Carlo 

p.\MILY    DIRIGIBLE      A  COMPE- 
tent,    steady   man   wanted    for  slow 
speed,   low   level  Tangje    dirigible       No 
night  work,  no  sea  trips.     Must  be  mem- 
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himself  useful  in  the  garden 
M    R.. 
The  Rectory,  Gray's  Barton.  Wills. 

(COMMERCIAL   DIG,   CENTRAL 

and    Southern     Europe.       A   smart, 
active    nun    for  a  L.  M.  T.  Dig.     Night 
work    only.     Headquarters    London    and 
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Baoman 

Charing  Cross  Hotel,  W.  C.  (urgent.) 


pOR  SALE  —  A  BARGAIN  —  SIN- 
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motor.  Restayed  this  autumn.  Hansen 
air-kit.  38  in.  chest,  15}  collar.  Can  be 
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N.  UM.     Thi»  office. 


The    Bee -Line    Bookshop 

BELT'S  WAY-BOOKS,  giving  town  lights 
for  all  towns  over  •1.000  pop.  as  laid 
down  by  A.  B.  C 
THE  WORLD.     Complete  2  vols.     Thin 

Oxford,  limp  back.     12s.  6d. 
BELT  S  COASTAL  ITINERARY.  Shore 

Lights  of  the  World.  7s.  6d. 
THE  TRANSATLANTIC  AND  MEDI- 
TERRANEAN TRAFFIC  LIfrES. 
(By  authontyof  the  A. B.C.)  Paper, 
Is.  6d.;  cloth,  2s.  6d.  Ready  Jan.  15. 
ARCTIC  AEROPLANING.    Siemens  and 

Gait.     Olotil.  bds.     35.  6d 
LAVALLES      HEART     OF     THE 
CYCLONE,    with     supplementary 
charts.    4s.  6d. 
RIMINGTONS     PITFALLS    IN    THE 
AIR,  and  Table  of  Comparative  Den- 
sities.    3s.  6d. 
ANOELOS    DESERT    IN    A    DIRIGI- 
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VA  U  G  H  A  N  •  S     PLANE   RACING   IN 

CALM  AND  STORM   2s.  6<1. 
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MATEUR   is. 

HOFMAN'S    LAWS     OF     LIFT     AND 

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DE  VITRE'S  THEORY  OF  SHIFTING 

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SANGER'S    WEATHERS    OF    THE 

WORLD      4s. 
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HIGH  ALTITUDES      4s 
HAWKIN'S     FOG    AND    HOW    TO 

AVOID  IT.     3s. 
VAN    ZUYLAN'S    SECONDARY 
EFFECTS  OF  THUNDERSTORMS. 
4s.  6d. 
DAHLGRENS  AIR   CURRENTS  AND 

EPIDEMIC  DISEASES      5s    6d 
REDMAYNES     DISEASE    AND    THE 

BAROMETER.     7s    6d 
WALTON'S     HEALTH    RESORTS    OF 
THE  GOBI  AND  SHAMO       3s.  6d. 
WALTON'S    THE     POLE    AND    PUL- 
MONARY COMPLAINTS.     7s.  8d. 
MUTLOW'S   HIGH  LEVEL  BACTERI- 
OLOGY     7s.  6d 
HALLIWELL'S  ILLUMINATED  STAR 
MAP.    with     clockwork    attachment, 
giving  apparent    motion  of  heavens, 
boxed,  complete  with  clamps  for  bin- 
nacle. 36  inch  size,  only  £2.  2.  0.    (  In- 
valuable for  night  work.)    WithA.B.O. 
certificate.  £3.  lOs.  Od. 
Zalinski's  Standard  Works  . 

PASSES  OF  THE  HIMALAYAS.  5a. 
PASSES  OF  THE  SIERRAS.  Ss. 
PASSES  OF  THE  ROOKIES,  5s, 
PASSES  OF  THE  URALS.  5s. 
The   four   boxed,  limp  cloth,  with 
charts.  IS.-*. 
GRAYS   AIR   CURRENTS    IN  MOUN- 
TAIN GORGES.  7s    6<1. 

A.  C  BELT  &  SON,    READING 


SAFETY     WEAR     FOR     AERONAUTS 


Flickers  1  Flickers!  Flickers  I 


High  Level  Flickers 


a 


"He  thai  is  down  need  fear  no  fall" 
Fear  not!  You  will  fall  lightly  as  down! 

Hansen's  air-klts  are  down   in  all 
respects.     Tremendous   reductions 

m    prices   previous  to  winter  stocking. 

Pure    para  kit  with  cellulose  seat  and 

shoulder-pads,    weighted      to     balance. 

Unequalled  for  all  drop-work. 

Our  trebly  resilient  heavy  kit  is  the  ne 
plus  ultra  of  comfort  and  safety. 

Gas-buoyed,  waterproof,  hail-proof,  non- 
conducting Flickers  with  pipe  and  nozzle 
fitting  all  types  of  generator.  Gradu- 
ated tap  on  left  hip. 

Hansen's  Flickers  Lead  the  Aerial  Flight 
197   Oxford    Street 

The  new  weighted  Flicker  with  tweed  or 
cheviot  surface  cannot  be  distinguished 
from  the  ordinary  suit  till  inflated. 

Flickers  I  Flickers  I  Flickers  I 


APPLIANCES     FOR     AIR     PLANES 


What 


99 


"SKID 


was  to  our  forefathers 
on  the  ground, 

"PITCH" 


is  to  their  sons  in  the  air. 

The  popularity  of  the 
large,  unwieldy,  slow,  ex- 
pensive Dirigible  over  the 
light,  swi(t,  Plane  is  main- 
ly due  to  the  former's 
immunity  from  pitch. 

Collison's  forward- 
socketed  Air  Van  renders 
it  impossible  for  any  plane 
to  pitch.  TheC.  F.S.  is 
automatic,  simple  as  a  shut- 
ter, certain  as  a  power 
hammer,  safe  as  oxygen. 
Fitted  to  any  make  of 
plane. 


COLLISON 

186  Brompton  Road 

IVorkibcpt,  Chlsuiick 

LtJNDIE    &    MATHERS 
Sole  Acb  for  Eul'tt  Hemisphete 


Starters 

and 

Guides 


Hotel,  club,  and 
private  house  plane- 
starters,  slips  and 
guides  affixed  by 
skilled  workmen  in 
accordance  with  local 
building  laws. 

Rackslraw's  forty- 
foot  collapsible  steel 
starters  with  automatic 
release  at  end  of  travel 
—prices  per  foot  run, 
clamps  and  crampons 
included.  The  safest 
on  the  market. 


rVeaver  <Sr  Denison 
^iddleboTo 


AIR    PLANES  AND  DIRIGIBLE    GOODS 


^emefnber 

Planes  are  swrift — so  U  Death 
Plaae*  ar«  cheap — $o  U  Life 

Why  does  the  'plane  builder 
insist  on  the  safety  of  his 
machines? 

Methinks  the  gentleman  pro- 
tests too  much. 

The  Standard  Dig  Construc- 
tion Osmpany  do  not  build 
kites. 

They  build,  equip  and  guEU'- 
antee  dirigibles. 

Standard  "Di^ 
Construction    Co. 

Nillwall    and  Buenos   Ayres 


HOVERS 

POWELL'S 
Wind  Hovers 

for  'planes  lying-to  in  heavy 
weaiher,  save  the  motor  and 
strain  on  the  forebody.  Will  not 
send  to  leeward.  "Albatross" 
wind-hovers,  riyid-ribbed ;  ac- 
cording to  h.  p.  and  weight. 

We  ft  an  J  lest  fret  to 
40°  tasl  of  Qreenwkh 


L.  &W  POWELL 

196  Victoria  Street,  W 


Remember 

We  shall  always  be 
pleased  to  see  you. 

We  build  and  test  and 
guarantee  our  dirigibles 
for  all  purposes.  They 
go  up  when  you  please 
and  they  do  not  come 
down  till  you  please. 
You  can  please  yourself, 
but— you  might  as  well 
choose  a  dirigible. 
STANDARD  DIRIGIBLE 
CONSTRUCTION  CO. 

MiWall  and  Buenos  Ayres 


Gayer  &  Hutt 

Birmingham  f^j^  Birmingham 
Eng.  Ala. 

Towers,  Landing  Stages, 
S'ips  and  Lifts 

public  and  private 


Contractors  to  the  A.  B.  C, 
South -Western  European 
Postal  Construction  Dept. 
Sole  patentees  and  owners 
of  the  Collison  anti-quake 
diagonal  tower-tie.  Only 
gold  medcJ  Kyoto  Elxhibition 
of  Aerial  Appliances,  1997. 


i  AIR 


PLANES     AND     DIRIGIBLES 


3 


C.M.C. 

Our  Synthetical  Mineral 

BEARINGS 

are  chemically  and  crystal- 
logically  identical  with  the 
minerals  whose  names  they 
bear.  Any  size,  any  surface. 
Diamond,  Rock-Crystal,  Agate 
and  Ruby  Bearings — cups,  caps 
and  collars  for  the  higher 
speeds. 

For  tractor  bearings  and  spin- 
dles—Imperative. 
For  rear  propellers— Indispen- 
sable. 
For  all  working  parts  — Advis- 
able. 

Commercial  Minerals  Co. 
107  Mloorles 


Resurgam! 

IF  YOU  HAVE  NOT  CLOTHED 
YOURSELF  IN  A 

Normandie 
Resurgam 

you  WILL  PROBABLY  NOT 
BE  INTERESTED  IN  OUR 
NEXT  WEEK'S  LIST  OF  AIR- 
KIT. 

Resurgam  Air-Kit 
Emporium 

Hymans  &  Graham 

1198 
Lower  Broadway,  New  York 


Remember! 


Q  It  is  now  nearly  a  century  since  the  Plane  was 
to  supersede  the  Dirigible  for  all  purposes. 

^  TO-DAY  none  of  the  Planet's  freight  is  car- 
ried tn  plant. 

f\  Less  than  two  per  cent,  of  the  Planet's  passen- 
gers are  carried  tn  plant. 


Wt  dttlfn,  equip  ontf 
foaranltt  DMglUu  Jot 
tU  purpottt. 


Standard  Dig  Construction 
Company 

MILLVALL  (Od  BUENOS  AYgCS 


BAT-BOATS 


Flint  &  Mantel 

Southampton 

FOR    SALE 

at  the  end  of  Season  the  following  Bat-Boats: 

GRISELDA.65  knt..  42  ft..  430  {nora.)  Maginnis  Motor. 

under-rake  rudder. 
MABELLE,    50  knt.,   40   ft..   310   Hargreaves   Motor, 

Douglas'  lock-steering  gear. 
rVEMONA,  50   knt.,  35  ft.,  300  Hargreaves  (Radium 

accelerator),  Miller  keel  and  rudder. 

The  above  are  well  known  on  the  South 
Coast  as  sound,  wholesome  knockabout  boats, 
with  ample  cruising  accommodation.  Griselda 
carries  spare  set  of  Hofman  racing  vans  and 
can  be  lifted  three  foot  clear  in  smooth  water 
with  ballast-tank  swung  aft.  The  others  do 
not  lift  clear  of  water,  and  are  recommended 
for  beginners. 

Also,  by  private  treaty,  racing  B.  B.  Tarpon 
(  76  winning  flags)  13/  knt,  60  ft.;  Long- 
Davidson  double  under-rake  rudder,  new  this 
season  and  unstrained.  850  nom.  Maginnis 
motor.  Radium  relays  and  Pond  generator. 
Bronze  breakwater  forward,  and  treble  rein- 
forced forefoot  and  entry.  Talfourd  rockered 
keel.  Triple  set  of  Hofman  vans,  giving  maxi- 
mum lifting  surface  of  5327  sq.  ft. 

Ti/r/x^w  nas  been  lifted  and  held  seven  feet 
for  two  miles  between  touch  and  touch. 

Our  Autumn  List  of  racing  and  family  Bats 
nady  on  the  9th  January. 


AIRPLANES     AND     STARTERS 


Hinks's  Moderator 


n 


Monorail  overhead  starter 
for  family  and  private  planes 
up  to  twenty-five  foot  over  all 


Absolutely 
Safe 


Hinf^s  iSr  Co..  Birmingham 


J.    D.    ARDAGH 

I  AM  NOT  CONCERNED  WITH  YOUR  'PLANE 
AFTER  IT  LEAVES  MY  GUIDES.  BUT  TILL 
THEN  I  HOLD  MYSELF  PERSONALLY 
RESPONSIBLE  FOR  YOUR  LIFE.  SAFETY.  AND 
COMFORT.  MY  HYDRAULIC  BUFFER-STOP 
CANNOT  RELEASE  TILL  THE  MOTORS  ARE 
WORKING  UP  TO  BEARING  SPEED.  THUS 
SECURING  A  SAFE  AND  GRACEFUL  FLIGHT 
WITHOUT  PITCHING,    p-^    r— ,      . .     , . 

Remember  our  motto,  "Upward  and  Outward,  "  and 
do  not  trust  yourself  to  so-called  "rigid"  guide  bars 

J.  D.  ARDAGH,    BELFAST  and  TURIN 


ACCESSORIES    AND     SPARES  1 


Christian  Wr 


ESTABLIS 


Accessories 


Hooded  Binnacles  with  dip-dials  automatically 
recording  chainge  of  level  (illuminated  face). 

All  heights  from  50  to  1 5.000  feet  £2   10  0 

With  Aerial  Board  of  Control  certificate       £3110 

Foot  and  Hand  Foghorns ;  Sirens  toned  to 
any  club  note;  with  air-chest  belt-driven 
from  motor £6     8  0 

Wireless  installations  syntonised  to  A. B.C. 
requirements,  in  neat  mahogany  case, 
hundred  mile  range  .£330 

Grapnels,*  mushroom  anchors,  pithing  -  irons, 
ranches,  hawsers,  snaps,  shackles  and  mooring  ropes, 
for  lav^rn,  city,  and  public  installations. 

Detachable  under-cars, aluminum  orstcimped  steel. 

Keeled  under-cars  for  planes :  single-adtion  detach- 
ing-gear, turning  car  into  boat  with  one  motion  or 
the  wri^.     Invaluable  for  sea  trips. 

Head,  side,  and  riding  lights  (  by  size)  Nos.  00  to 
20  A.B.C.  Standard.  Rockets  and  fog-bombs  in 
colour?  and  tones  of  the  principal  clubs  (boxed). 

A  seledtion  of  twenty  £2176 

International  night-signals  (  boxed )  £  I    I  I   6 

C  dialogue  J  ^«e  thr 


ACCESSORIES     AND     SPARES 


IGHT    &    OlDIS 

HED    1924 

and  Spares 


Spare  generators  guaranteed  to  lifting  power 
marked  on  cover  (  prices  according  to  power  ). 

Wind-noses  for  dirigibles  —  Pegamoid,  cane-^iff- 
ened,  lacquered  cane  or  aluminum  and  flux  for 
winter  work. 

Smoke-ring  Cfinnon  for  hail  ^orms.swivel  mounted, 
bow  or  ^em. 

Propeller  blades  :  metal,  tungsten  backed;  papier- 
mache  ;  wire  stiffened ;  ribbed  Xylonite  (  Nickson's 
patent ) ;  all  razor-edged  ( price  by  pitch  and 
diameter ). 

Compressed  ^eel  bow-screws  for  winter  work. 

Fused  Ruby  or  Commercial  Mineral  Co.  bearings 
and  collars.  Agate-mounted  thrust-blocks  up  to  4  inch. 

Magniac's  bow-rudders — (LavcJle's  patent  groov- 
ing). 

Wove  steel  beltings  for  outboeird*  motors  (non- 
magnetic ). 

Radium  batteries,  all  powers  to  I  50  h.p.  (in  pairs). 

Helium  batteries,  all  powers  to  300  h.  p.  (teuidem). 

Stun'sle  brakes  worked  from  upp>er  or  lower 
platform. 

Direct  plunge-brakes  worked  from  lower  plat- 
form only,  loaded  silk  or  fibre,  wind-tight. 

oughotxi  the  Vlanei 


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